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TT" I •'  I  T8** 

Fn  E  L 


BAYARD  YEILLER 


'<•  .<-  -'•••    I 


WITHIN  THE  LAW 


"THREE  YEARS  ISN'T  FOREVER.     WHEN  i  COME  OUT  YOU  ARE  GOING  TO  PAY  FOR 

EVERY   MOMENT  OF  THEM.      THERE   WON'T  BE  A  DAY  OR  AN   HOUR  THAT   I   WON'T 
REMEMBER    THAT    AT    LAST    IT    WAS    YOUR    WORD    THAT    SENT    ME    TO    PRISON. 


WITHIN  THE  LAW 


BY 

MARVIN  DANA 

FROM  THE  PLAY  OF 

BAYARD  VEILLER 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW    YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1913,  by 
THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY. 

The  American  Play  Company  is  the  sole  proprietor  of  the 
exclusive  rights  of  the  representation  and  per 
formance  of  "Within  the  Law" 
in  all  languages. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Panel  of  Light .........      9 

II.  A  Cheerful  Prodigal 19 

III.  Only  Three  Years ... 28 

IV.  Kisses  and  Kleptomania 42 

V.  The  Victim  of  the  Law 55 

VI.  Inferno 78 

VII.  Within  the  Law - 89 

VIII.  A  Tip  from  Headquarters 104 

IX.  A  Legal  Document 116 

X.  Marked  Money 123 

XL  The  Thief 134 

XII.  A  Bridegroom  Spurned 150 

XIII.  The  Advent  of  Griggs 161 

XIV.  A  Wedding  Announcement 173 

XV.  Aftermath  of  Tragedy 196 

XVI.  Burke  Plots 208 

XVII.  Outside  the  Law 223 

XVIII.  The  Noiseless  Death 236 

XIX.  Within  the  Toils 251 

18969 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAG1 

XX.  Who  Shot  Griggs? 264 

XXI.  Aggie  at  Bay HLKM^*.  .> 276 

XXII.  The  Trap  That  Failed  .  ..*.<... .1.1.2.1.,. . . .  295 

XXIII.  The  Confession ,. . .,.< 319 

XXIV.  Anguish  and  Bliss , >  . .... .  .m  331 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"Three  years  isn't  forever.  When  I  come  out 
you  are  going  to  pay  for  every  moment  of 
them.  There  won't  be  a  day  or  an  hour  that 
I  won't  remember  that,  at  last,  it  was  your 
word  that  sent  me  to  prison" .  .Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"I'll  never  forgive  myself,  .  .  .  never,"  she 
moaned.  "Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  Mary  said. 
"People  forgive  themselves  pretty  easily".  .  .,  147 

"Mary,  haven't  you  ever  wanted  the  things  that 
other  women  have,  .  .  .  shelter,  and  care,  and 
the  big  things  of  life,  the  things  worth  while? 
They're  all  ready  for  you  now,  Mary" ,  243 

"That's  all  right!"  he  murmured,  huskily. 
"That's  all  right,  Mary.  You  know  he'll  look 
after  you.  -.,  t.  ,.  Yes,  he'll  look  after  you",. . .,  342 


WitMn  tlie  Law 

CHAPTER  I. 

THE  PANEL  OF  LIGHT 

The  lids  of  the  girl's  eyes  lifted  slowly,  and  she 
stared  at  the  panel  of  light  in  the  wall.  Just  at  the 
outset,  the  act  of  seeing  made  not  the  least  impression 
on  her  numbed  brain.  For  a  long  time  she  continued 
to  regard  the  dim  illumination  in  the  wall  with  the  same 
passive  fixity  of  gaze.  Apathy  still  lay  upon  her  crushed 
spirit.  In  a  vague  way,  she  realized  her  own  inertness, 
and  rested  in  it  gratefully,  subtly  fearful  lest  she  again 
arouse  to  the  full  horror  of  her  plight.  In  a  curious 
subconscious  fashion,  she  was  striving  to  hold  on  to  this 
deadness  of  sensation,  thus  to  win  a  little  respite  from 
the  torture  that  had  exhausted  her  soul. 

Of  a  sudden,  her  eyes  noted  the  black  lines  that  lay 
across  the  panel  of  light  And,  in  that  instant,  her 
spirit  was  quickened  once  again.  The  clouds  lifted  from 
her  brain.  Vision  was  clear  now.  Understanding 
seized  the  full  import  of  this  hideous  thing  on  which 
she  looked.  .  .  .  For  the  panel  of  light  was  a  window, 
set  high  within  a  wall  of  stone.  The  rigid  lines  of  black 
that  crossed  it  were  bars — prison  bars.  It  was  still 
true,  then :  She  was  in  a  cell  of  the  Tombs. 


i o  : :  -;,     WITHIN .  THE  LAW 

The  igir-l,.  crouching  rnisej-ably  on  the  narrow  bed, 
maintained  her  fixed  wat'ching  of  the  window — that  win 
dow  which  was  a  symbol  of  her  utter  despair.  Again, 
agony  wrenched  within  her.  She  did  not  weep :  long 
ago  she  had  exhausted  the  relief  of  tears.  She  did  not 
pace  to  and  fro  in  the  comfort  of  physical  movement 
with  which  the  caged  beast  finds  a  mocking  imitation 
of  liberty:  long  ago,  her  physical  vigors  had  been 
drained  under  stress  of  anguish.  Now,  she  was  well- 
nigh  incapable  of  any  bodily  activity.  There  came  not 
even  so  much  as  the  feeblest  moan  from  her  lips.  The 
torment  was  far  too  racking  for  such  futile  fashion  of 
lamentation.  She  merely  sat  there  in  a  posture  of  col 
lapse.  To  all  outward  seeming,  nerveless,  emotionless, 
an  abject  creature.  Even  the  eyes,  which  held  so  fixedly 
their  gaze  on  the  window,  were  quite  expressionless. 
Over  them  lay  a  film,  like  that  which  veils  the  eyes  of 
some  dead  thing.  Only  an  occasional  languid  motion 
of  the  lids  revealed  the  life  that  remained. 

So  still  the  body.  Within  the  soul,  fury  raged  uncon 
trolled.  For  all  the  desolate  calm  of  outer  seeming, 
the  tragedy  of  her  fate  was  being  acted  with  frightful 
vividness  there  in  memory.  In  that  dreadful  remem 
brance,  her  spirit  was  rent  asunder  anew  by  realization 
of  that  which  had  become  her  portion.  ...  It  was 
then,  as  once  again  the  horrible  injustice  of  her  fate 
racked  consciousness  with  its  tortures,  that  the  seeds  of 
revolt  were  implanted  in  her  heart.  The  thought  of 
revenge  gave  to  her  the  first  meager  gleam  of  comfort 
that  had  lightened  her  moods  through  many  miserable 


THE  PANEL  OF  LIGHT  n 

days  and  nights.  Those  seeds  of  revolt  were  to  be 
nourished  well,  were  to  grow  into  their  flower — a 
poison  flower,  developed  through  the  three  years  of 
convict  life  to  which  the  judge  had  sentenced  her. 

The  girl  was  appalled  by  the  mercilessness  of  a  des 
tiny  that  had  so  outraged  right.    She  was  wholly  inno 
cent  of  having  done  any  wrong.      She    had    struggled 
through  years  of  privation  to  keep  herself  clean  and 
wholesome,  worthy  of  those  gentlefolk  from  whom  she 
drew  her  blood.    And  earnest  effort  had  ended  at  last 
under  an    overwhelming    accusation — false,    yet    none 
the  less  fatal  to  her.    This  accusation,  after  soul-weary 
ing  delays,  had  culminated  to-day  in  conviction.     The 
sentence  of  the  court  had  been  imposed  upon  her:  that 
for  three  years  she  should  be  imprisoned.   .    .    .  This, 
despite  her  innocence.    She  had  endured  much — misera 
bly  much ! — for  honesty's  sake.      There    wrought  the 
irony  of  fate.     She  had  endured  bravely  for  honesty's 
sake.    And  the  end   of   it  all   was   shame  unutterable. 
There  was  nought  left  her  save  a  wild  dream  of  revenge 
against   the   world  that  had  martyrized  her.      "Ven 
geance  is  mine.    I  will  repay,  saith  the  Lord."  .   .   .  The 
admonition  could  not  touch  her  now.    Why  should  she 
care  for  the  decrees  of  a  God  who  had  abandoned  her! 
There  had  been  nothing  in  the  life  of  Mary  Turner, 
before  the  catastrophe    came,    to  distinguish    it    from 
many  another.  Its  most  significant  details  were  of  a  sor 
did  kind,  familiar  to  poverty.    Her  father  had  been  an 
unsuccessful  man,  as  success  is  esteemed  by  this  genera 
tion  of  Mammon-worshipers.     He  was  a  gentleman, 


12  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

but  the  trivial  fact  is  of  small  avail  to-day.  He  was  of 
good  birth,  and  he  was  the  possessor  of  an  inherited 
competence.  He  had,  as  well,  intelligence,  but  it  was  not 
of  a  financial  sort. 

So,  little  by  little,  his  fortune  became  shrunken 
toward  nothingness,  by  reason  of  injudicious  in 
vestments.  He  married  a  charming  woman,  who, 
after  a  brief  period  of  wedded  happiness,  gave  her  life 
to  the  birth  of  the  single  child  of  the  union,  Mary. 
Afterward,  in  his  distress  over  this  loss,  Ray  Turner 
seemed  even  more  incompetent  for  the  management  of 
business  affairs.  As  the  years  passed,  the  daughter  grew 
toward  maturity  in  an  experience  of  ever-increasing 
penury.  Nevertheless,  there  was  no  actual  want  of  the 
necessities  of  life,  though  always  a  woful  lack  of  its 
elegancies.  The  girl  was  in  the  high-school,  when  her 
father  finally  gave  over  his  rather  feeble  effort  of  living. 
Between  parent  and  child,  the  intimacy  had  been  unusu 
ally  close.  At  his  death,  the  father  left  her  a  character 
well  instructed  in  the  excellent  principles  that  had  been 
his  own.  That  was  his  sole  legacy  to  her.  Of  worldly 
goods,  not  the  value  of  a  pin. 

Yet,  measured  according  to  the  stern  standards  of 
adversity,  Mary  was  fortunate.  Almost  at  once,  she! 
procured  a  humble  employment  in  the  Emporium,  the 
great  department  store  owned  by  Edward  Gilder.  To 
be  sure,  the  wage  was  infinitesimal,  while  the  toil  was 
body-breaking,  soul-breaking.  Still,  the  pittance  could 
be  made  to  sustain  life,  and  Mary  was  blessed  with  both 
soul  and  body  to  sustain  much.  So  she  merged  herself 


THE  PANEL  OF  LIGHT  13 

in  the  army  of  workers — in  the  vast  battalion  of  those 
that  give  their  entire  selves  to  a  labor  most  stern  and 
unremitting,  and  most  ill  rewarded. 

Mary,  nevertheless,  avoided  the  worst  perils  of  her 
lot.  She  did  not  flinch  under  privation,  but  went  her 
way  through  it,  if  not  serenely,  at  least  without  ever  a 
thought  of  yielding  to  those  temptations  that  beset  a 
girl  who  is  at  once  poor  and  charming.  Fortunately 
for  her,  those  in  closest  authority  over  her  were  not  so 
deeply  smitten  as  to  make  obligatory  on  her  a  choice 
between  complaisance  and  loss  of  position.  She  knew 
of  situations  like  that,  the  cul-de-sac  of  chastity,  worse 
than  any  devised  by  a  Javert.  In  the  store,  such  things 
were  matters  of  course.  There  is  little  innocence  for 
the  girl  in  the  modern  city.  There  can  be  none  for  the 
worker  thrown  into  the  storm-center  of  a  great  com 
mercial  activity,  humming  with  vicious  gossip,  all  alive 
with  quips  from  the  worldly  wise.  At  the  very  outset 
of  her  employment,  the  sixteen-year-old  girl  learned 
that  she  might  eke  out  the  six  dollars  weekly  by  trading 
on  her  personal  attractiveness  to  those  of  the  opposite 
sex.  The  idea  was  repugnant  to  her;  not  only  from  the 
maidenly  instinct  of  purity,  but  also  from  the  moral 
principles  woven  into  her  character  by  the  teachings  of 
a  father  wise  in  most  things,  though  a  fool  in  finance- 
Thus,  she  remained  unsmirched,  though  well  informed 
as  to  the  verities  of  life.  She  preferred  purity  and 
penury,  rather  than  a  slight  pampering  of  the  body  to 
be  bought  by  its  degradation.  Among  her  fellows  were 
some  like  herself;  others,  unlike.  Of  her  own  sort,  in 


I4  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

this  single  particular,  were  the  two  girls  with  whom  she 
shared  a  cheap  room.  Their  common  decency  in  atti 
tude  toward  the  other  sex  was  the  unique  bond  of  union. 
In  their  association,  she  found  no  real  companionship. 
Nevertheless,  they  were  wholesome  enough.  Other 
wise  they  were  illiterate,  altogether  uncongenial. 

In  such  wise,  through  five  dreary  years,  Mary  Turner 
lived.  Nine  hours  daily,  she  stood  behind  a  counter. 
She  spent  her  other  waking  hours  in  obligatory  menial 
labors :  cooking  her  own  scant  meals  over  the  gas ;  wash 
ing  and  ironing,  for  the  sake  of  that  neat  appearance 
which  was  required  of  her  by  those  in  authority  at  the 
Emporium — yet,  more  especially,  necessary  for  her  own 
self-respect.  With  a  mind  keen  and  earnest,  she  con 
trived  some  solace  from  reading  and  studying,  since  the 
free  library  gave  her  this  opportunity.  So,  though  en 
gaged  in  stultifying  occupation  through  most  of  her 
hours,  she  was  able  to  find  food  for  mental  growth. 
Even,  in  the  last  year,  she  had  reached  a  point  of  devel 
opment  whereat  she  began  to  study  seriously  her  own 
position  in  the  world's  economy,  to  meditate  on  a  method 
of  bettering  it.  Under  this  impulse,  hope  mounted  high 
in  her  heart.  Ambition  was  born.  By  candid  compari 
son  of  herself  with  others  about  her,  she  realized  the 
fact  that  she  possessed  an  intelligence  beyond  the  aver 
age.  The  training  by  her  father,  too,  had  been  of  a 
superior  kind.  There  was  as  well,  at  the  back  vaguely, 
the  feeling  of  particular  self-respect  that  belongs  inev 
itably  to  the  possessor  of  good  blood.  Finally,  she 
demurely  enjoyed  a  modest  appreciation  of  her  own 


THE  PANEL  OF  LIGHT  15 

physical  advantages.  In  short,  she  had  beauty,  brains 
and  breeding.  Three  things  of  chief  importance  to  any 
woman — though  there  be  many  minds  as  to  which  may 
be  chief  among  the  three. 

I  have  said  nothing  specific  thus  far  as  to  the  outer 
being  of  Mary  Turner — except  as  to  filmed  eyes  and 
a  huddled  form.  But,  in  a  happier  situation,  the  girl 
were  winning  enough.  Indeed,  more !  She  was  one  of 
those  that  possess  an  harmonious  beauty,  with,  too,  the 
penetrant  charm  that  springs  from  the  mind,  with  the 
added  graces  born  of  the  spirit.  Just  now,  as  she  sat,  a 
figure  of  desolation,  there  on  the  bed  in  the  Tombs  cell, 
it  would  have  required  a  most  analytical  observer  to  de 
termine  the  actualities  of  her  loveliness.  Her  form 
was  disguised  by  the  droop  of  exhaustion.  Her  com 
plexion  showed  the  pallor  of  sorrowful  vigils.  Her 
face  was  no  more  than  a  mask  of  misery.  Yet,  the 
shrewd  observer,  if  a  lover  of  beauty,  might  have  found 
much  for  delight,  even  despite  the  concealment  imposed 
by  her  present  condition.  Thus,  the  stormy  glory  of 
her  dark  hair,  great  masses  that  ran  a  riot  of  shining 
ripples  and  waves.  And  the  straight  line  of  the  nose, 
not  too  thin,  yet  fine  enough  for  the  rapture  of  a  Prax- 
jiteles.  And  the  pink  daintiness  of  the  ear-tips,  which 
peered  warmly  from  beneath  the  pall  of  tresses.  One 
could  know  nothing  accurately  of  the  complexion  now. 
But  it  were  easy  to  guess  that  in  happier  places  it  would 
show  of  a  purity  to  entice,  with  a  gentle  blooming  of 
roses  in  the  cheeks.  Even  in  this  hour  of  unmitigated 
evil,  the  lips  revealed  a  curving  beauty  of  red — not  quite 


1 6  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

crimson,  though  near  enough  for  the  word;  not  quite 
scarlet  either;  only,  a  red  gently  enchanting,  which 
turned  one's  thoughts  toward  tenderness— with  a  hint 
of  desire.  It  was,  too,  a  generous  mouth,  not  too  large; 
still,  happily,  not  so  small  as  those  modeled  by  Wat- 
teau.  It  was  altogether  winsome — more,  it  was  gen 
erous  and  true,  desirable  for  kisses — yes !— more  desir 
able  for  strength  and  for  faith. 

Like  every  intelligent  woman,  Mary  had  taken  the 
trouble  to  reinforce  the  worth  of  her  physical  attrac 
tiveness.     The  instinct  of  sex  was  strong  in  her,  as  it 
must  be  in  every  normal  woman,  since  that  appeal  is 
nature's  law.     She  kept  herself  supple  and  svelte  by 
many  exercises,  at  which  her  companions  in  the  chamber 
scoffed,  with  the  prudent  warning  that  more  work  must 
mean  more  appetite.     With  arms  still  aching  from  the 
lifting  of  heavy  bolts  of  cloth  to  and  fro   from  the 
shelves,  she  nevertheless  was  at  pains  nightly  to  brush 
with  the    appointed    two  hundred    strokes  the    thick 
masses  of  her  hair.    Even  here,  in  the  sordid  desolation 
of  the  cell,  the  lustrous  sheen  witnessed  the  fidelity  of 
her  care.     So,  in  each  detail  of  her,  the  keen  observer 
might  have    found    adequate    reason  for    admiration. 
There  was  the  delicacy  of  the  hands,  with  fingers  taper 
ing,  with  nails  perfectly  shaped,  neither  too  dull  nor  too 
shining.     And  there  were,  too,  finally,  the  trimly  shod 
feet,  set  rather  primly  on  the  floor,  small,  and  arched 
like  those  of  a  Spanish  Infanta.    In  truth,  Mary  Turner 
showed  the  possibilities  at  least,  if  not  just  now  the 
realities,  of  a  very  beautiful  woman. 


THE  PANEL  OF  LIGHT  17 

Naturally,  in  this  period  of  grief,  the  girl's  mind  had 
no  concern  with  such  external  merits  over  which  once 
she  had  modestly  exulted.  All  her  present  energies  were 
set  to  precise  recollection  of  the  ghastly  experience  into 
which  she  had  been  thrust. 

In  its  outline,  the  event  had  been  tragically  simple. 

There  had  been  thefts  in  the  store.  They  had  been 
traced  eventually  to  a  certain  department,  that  in  which 
Mary  worked.  The  detective  was  alert.  Some  valuable 
silks  were  missed.  Search  followed  immediately.  The 
goods  were  found  in  Mary's  locker.  That  was  enough. 
She  was  charged  with  the  theft.  She  protested  inno 
cence — only  to  be  laughed  at  in  derision  by  her  accusers. 
Every  thief  declares  innocence.  Mr.  Gilder  himself 
was  emphatic  against  her.  The  thieving  had  been  long 
continued.  An  example  must  be  made.  The  girl  was 
arrested. 

The  crowded  condition  of  the  court  calendar  kept 
her  for  three  months  in  the  Tombs,  awaiting  trial. 
She  was  quite  friendless.  To  the  world,  she  was  only 
a  thief  in  duress.  At  the  last,  the  trial  was  very  short. 
Her  lawyer  was  merely  an  unfledged  practitioner  as 
signed  to  her  defense  as  a  formality  of  the  court.  This 
novice  in  his  profession  was  so  grateful  for  the  first 
recognition  ever  afforded  him  that  he  rather  assisted 
than  otherwise  the  District  Attorney  in  the  prosecution 
of  the  case. 

At  the  end,  twelve  good  men  and  true  rendered  a  ver 
dict  of  guilty  against  the  shuddering  girl  in  the  pris 
oner's  dock. 


!8  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

So  simple  the  history  of  Mary  Turner's  trial.  >  ,.  r.i 
The  sentence  of  the  judge  was  lenient— only  three 
years  1 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  CHEERFUL  PRODIGAL. 

That  which  was  the  supreme  tragedy  to  the  broken 
girl  in  the  cell  merely  afforded  rather  agreeable  enter 
tainment  to  her  former  fellows  of  the  department  store. 
Mary  Turner  throughout  her  term  of  service  there  had 
been  without  real  intimates,  so  that  now  none  was  ready 
to  mourn  over  her  fate.  Even  the  two  room-mates  had 
felt  some  slight  offense,  since  they  sensed  the  superior 
ity  of  her,  though  vaguely.  Now,  they  found  a  smug 
satisfaction  in  the  fact  of  her  disaster  as  emphasizing 
very  pleasurably  their  own  continuance  in  respectability. 

As  many  a  philosopher  has  observed,  we  secretly 
enjoy  the  misfortunes  of  others,  particularly  of  our 
friends,  since  they  are  closest  to  us.  Most  persons 
hasten  to  deny  this  truth  in  its  application  to  themselves. 
They  do  so  either  because  from  lack  of  clear  under 
standing  they  are  not  quite  honest  with  themselves,  from 
lack  of  clear  introspection,  or  because,  as  may  be  more 
easily  believed,  they  are  not  quite  honest  in  the  asser 
tion.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  we  do  find  a  singular  satis 
faction  in  the  troubles  of  others.  Contemplation  of 
such  suffering  renders  more  striking  the  contrasted  well- 
being  of  our  own  lot.  We  need  the  pains  of  others  to 
serve  as  background  for  our  joys — just  as  sin  is  essen- 

,1-9 


20  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

tial  as  the  background  for  any  appreciation  of  virtue, 
even  any  knowledge  of  its  existence.  ...  So  now,  on 
the  day  of  Mary  Turner's  trial,  there  was  a  subtle 
gaiety  of  gossipings  to  and  fro  through  the  store.  The 
girl's  plight  was  like  a  shuttlecock  driven  hither  and 
yon  by  the  battledores  of  many  tongues.  It  was  the 
first  time  in  many  years  that  one  of  the  employees  had 
been  thus  accused  of  theft.  Shoplifters  were  so  com 
mon  as  to  be  a  stale  topic.  There  was  a  refreshing 
novelty  in  this  case,  where  one  of  themselves  was  the 
culprit.  Her  fellow  workers  chatted  desultorily  of  her 
as  they  had  opportunity,  and  complacently  thanked  their 
gods  that  they  were  not  as  she — with  reason.  Perhaps, 
a  very  few  were  kindly  hearted  enough  to  feel  a  touch 
of  sympathy  for  this  ruin  of  a  life. 

Of  such  was  Smithson,  a  member  of  the  executive 
staff,  who  did  not  hesitate  to  speak  his  mind,  though 
none  too  forcibly.  As  for  that,  Smithson,  while  the 
possessor  of  a  dignity  nourished  by  years  of  floor-walk 
ing,  was  not  given  to  the  holding  of  vigorous  opinions. 
Yet,  his  comment,  meager  as  it  was,  stood  wholly  in 
Mary's  favor.  And  he  spoke  with  a  certain  authority, 
since  he  had  given  official  attention  to  the  girl. 

Smithson  stopped  Sarah  Edwards,  Mr.  Gilder's  pri 
vate  secretary,  as  she  was  passing  through  one  of  the 
departments  that  morning,  to  ask  her  if  the  owner  had 
yet  reached  his  office. 

"Been  and  gone,"  was  the  secretary's  answer,  with 
the  terseness  characteristic  of  her. 

"Gone!"  Smithson  repeated,  evidently  somewhat  dis- 


A  CHEERFUL  PRODIGAL  21 

turbed  by  the  information.  "I  particularly  wanted  to 
see  him." 

"He'll  be  back,  all  right,"  Sarah  vouchsafed,  amiably. 
"He  went  down-town,  to  the  Court  of  General  Sessions. 
The  judge  sent  for  him  about  the  Mary  Turner  case.'* 

"Oh,  yes,  I  remember  now,"  Smithson  exclaimed. 
Then  he  added,  with  a  trace  of  genuine  feeling,  "I  hope 
the  poor  girl  gets  off.  She  was  a  nice  girl — quite  the 
lady,  you  know,  Miss  Edwards." 

"No,  I  don't  know,"  Sarah  rejoined,  a  bit  tartly. 
Truth  to  tell,  the  secretary  was  haunted  by  a  grim  sus 
picion  that  she  herself  was  not  quite  the  lady  of  her 
dreams,  and  never  would  be  able  to  acquire  the  graces 
of  the  Vere  De  Vere.  For  Sarah,  while  a  most  efficient 
secretary,  was  not  in  her  person  of  that  slender  ele 
gance  which  always  characterized  her  favorite  heroines 
in  the  novels  she  affected.  On  the  contrary,  she  was 
of  a  sort  to  have  gratified  Byron,  who  declared  that  a 
woman  in  her  maturity  should  be  plump.  Now,  she 
recalled  with  a  twinge  of  envy  that  the  accused  girl  had 
been  of  an  aristocratic  slimness  of  form.  "Oh,  did  you 
know  her?"  she  questioned,  without  any  real  interest. 

Smithson  answered  with  that  bland  stateliness  of 
manner  which  was  the  fruit  of  floor-walking  politeness. 

"Well,  I  couldn't  exactly  say  I  knew  her,  and  yet  I 
might  say,  after  a  manner  of  speaking,  that  I  did — to 
a  certain  extent.  You  see,  they  put  her  in  my  depart 
ment  when  she  first  came  here  to  work.  She  was  a  good 
saleswoman,  as  saleswomen  go.  For  the  matter  of 


22  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

that,"  he  added  with  a  sudden  access  of  energy,  "she 
was  the  last  girl  in  the  world  I'd  take  for  a  thief." 
He  displayed  some  evidences  of  embarrassment  over  the 
honest  feeling  into  which  he  had  been  betrayed,  and 
made  haste  to  recover  his  usual  business  manner,  as  he 
continued  formally.  "Will  you  please  let  me  know  when 
Mr.  Gilder  arrives?  There  are  one  or  two  little  mat 
ters  I  wish  to  discuss  with  him." 

"All  right!"  Sarah  agreed  briskly,  and  she  hurried  on 
toward  the  private  office. 

The  secretary  was  barely  seated  at  her  desk  when  the 
violent  opening  of  the  door  startled  her,  and,  as  she 
looked  up,  a  cheery  voice  cried  out: 

"Hello,  Dad!" 

At  the  same  moment,  a  young  man  entered,  with  an 
air  of  care-free  assurance,  his  face  radiant.  But,  as  his 
glance  went  to  the  empty  arm-chair  at  the  desk,  he  halted 
abruptly,  and  his  expression  changed  to  one  of  disap 
pointment. 

"Not  here!"  he  grumbled.  Then,  once  again  the 
smile  was  on  his  lips  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the  secretary, 
who  had  now  risen  to  her  feet  in  a  flutter  of  excitement. 

"Why,  Mr.  Dick!"  Sarah  gasped. 

"Hello,  Sadie!"  came  the  genial  salutation.  The 
young  man  advanced  and  shook  hands  with  her  warmly. 
"I'm  home  again.  Where's  Dad?" 

Even  as  he  asked  the  question,  the  quick  sobering  of 
his  face  bore  witness  to  his  disappointment  over  not 
finding  his  father  in  the  office.  For  such  was  the  rela 
tionship  of  the  owner  of  the  department  store  to  this 


A  CHEERFUL  PRODIGAL  23 

new  arrival  on  the  scene.  And  in  the  patent  chagrin  un 
der  which  the  son  now  labored  was  to  be  found  a  certain 
indication  of  character  not  to  be  disregarded.  Unlike 
many  a  child,  he  really  loved  his  father.  The  death  of 
the  mother  years  before  had  left  him  without  other 
opportunity  for  affection  in  the  home,  since  he  had 
neither  brother  nor  sister.  He  loved  his  father  with  a 
depth  of  feeling  that  made  between  the  two  a  real 
camaraderie,  despite  great  differences  in  temperament. 
In  that  simple  and  sincere  regard  which  he  bore  for  his 
father,  the  boy  revealed  a  heart  ready  for  love,  willing 
to  give  of  itself  its  best  for  the  one  beloved.  Beyond 
that,  as  yet,  there  was  little  to  be  said  of  him  with  ex 
actness.  He  was  a  spoiled  child  of  fortune,  if  you* 
wish  to  have  it  so.  Certainly,  he  was  only  a  drone  in 
the  world's  hive.  Thus  far,  he  had  enjoyed  the  good 
things  of  life,  without  ever  doing  aught  to  deserve  them 
by  contributing  in  return — save  by  his  smiles  and  his 
genial  air  of  happiness. 

In  the  twenty-three  years  of  his  life,  every  gift  that 
money  could  lavish  had  been  his.  If  the  sum  total  of 
benefit  was  small,  at  least  there  remained  the  consoling 
fact  that  the  harm  was  even  less.  Luxury  had  not  sapped 
the  strength  of  him.  He  had  not  grown  vicious,  as 
have  so  many  of  his  fellows  among  the  sons  of  the 
rich.  Some  instinct  held  him  aloof  from  the  grosser, 
vices.  His  were  the  trifling  faults  that  had  their  origin 
chiefly  in  the  joy  of  life,  which  manifest  occasionally  in 
riotous  extravagancies,  of  a  sort  actually  to  harm  none, 
however  absurd  and  useless  they  may  be. 


24  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

So  much  one  might  see  by  a  glance  into  the  face.  He 
was  well  groomed,  of  course ;  healthy,  all  a-tingle  with 
vitality.  And  in  the  clear  eyes,  which  avoided  no  man's 
gaze,  nor  sought  any  woman's  unseemly,  there  showed 
a  soul  untainted,  not  yet  developed,  not  yet  debased. 
Through  all  his  days,  Dick  Gilder  had  walked  gladly, 
in  the  content  that  springs  to  the  call  of  one  possessed 
of  a  capacity  for  enjoyment;  possessed,  too,  of  every 
means  for  the  gratification  of  desire.  As  yet,  the  man 
of  him  was  unrevealed  in  its  integrity.  No  test  had 
been  put  upon  him.  The  fires  of  suffering  had  not  tried 
the  dross  of  him.  What  real  worth  might  lie  under  this 
sunny  surface  the  future  must  determine.  There  showed 
now  only  this  one  significant  fact :  that,  in  the  first  mo 
ment  of  his  return  from  journeyings  abroad,  he  sought 
his  father  with  all  eagerness,  and  was  sorely  grieved 
because  the  meeting  must  still  be  delayed.  It  was  a 
little  thing,  perhaps.  Yet,  it  was  capable  of  meaning 
much  concerning  the  nature  of  the  lad.  It  revealed 
surely  a  tender  heart,  one  responsive  to  a  pure  love. 
And  to  one  of  his  class,  there  are  many  forces  ever  pres 
ent  to  atrophy  such  simple,  wholesome  power  of  loving. 
The  ability  to  love  cleanly  and  absolutely  is  the  supreme 
virtue. 

Sarah  explained  that  Mr.  Gilder  had  been  called  to  the 
Court  of  General  Sessions  by  the  judge. 

Dick  interrupted  her  with  a  gust  of  laughter. 

"What's  Dad  been  doing  now?"  he  demanded,  his 
eyes  twinkling.  Then,  a  reminiscent  grin  shaped  itself 
on  his  lips.  "Remember  the  time  that  fresh  cop  ar- 


A  CHEERFUL  PRODIGAL  25 

rested  him  for  speeding?  Wasn't  he  wild?  I  thought 
he  would  have  the  whole  police  force  discharged."  He 
smiled  again.  "The  trouble  is,"  he  declared  sedately, 
"that  sort  of  thing  requires  practise.  Now,  when  I'm 
arrested  for  speeding,  I'm  not  in  the  least  flustered — oh, 
not  a  little  bit !  But  poor  Dad !  That  one  experience 
of  his  almost  soured  his  whole  life.  It  was  near  the 
death  of  him — also,  of  the  city's  finest." 

By  this  time,  the  secretary  had  regained  her  usual 
poise,  which  had  been  somewhat  disturbed  by  the  irrup 
tion  of  the  young  man.  Her  round  face  shone  delight 
edly  as  she  regarded  him.  There  was  a  maternal  note 
of  rebuke  in  her  voice  as  she  spoke: 

"Why,  we  didn't  expect  you  back  for  two  or  three 
months  yet." 

Once  again,  Dick  laughed,  with  an  infectious  gaiety 
that  brought  a  smile  of  response  to  the  secretary's  lips. 

"Sadie,"  he  explained  confidentially,  "don't  you  dare 
ever  to  let  the  old  man  know.  He  would  be  all  swollen 
op.  It's  bad  to  let  a  parent  swell  up.  But  the  truth  is, 
Sadie,  I  got  kind  of  homesick  for  Dad — yes,  just  that!" 
He  spoke  the  words  with  a  sort  of  shamefaced  wonder. 
It  is  not  easy  for  an  Anglo-Saxon  to  confess  the  reali 
ties  of  affection  in  vital  intimacies.  He  repeated  the 
phrase  in  a  curiously  appreciative  hesitation,  as  one  as 
tounded  by  his  own  emotion.  "Yes,  homesick  for 
Dad!" 

Then,  to  cover  an  excess  of  sincere  feeling,  he  con 
tinued,  with  a  burst  of  laughter: 

"Besides,  Sadie,  I  was  broke." 


26  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

The  secretary  sniffed. 

"The  cable  would  have  handled  that  end  of  it,  I 
guess,"  she  said,  succinctly. 

There  was  no  word  of  contradiction  from  Dick,  who, 
from  ample  experience,  knew  that  any  demand  for  funds 
would  have  received  answer  from  the  father. 

"But  what  is  Dad  doing  in  court?"  he  demanded. 

Sarah  explained  the  matter  with  her  usual  concise 
ness: 

"One  of  the  girls  was  arrested  for  stealing." 

The  nature  of  the  son  was  shown  then  clearly  in  one 
of  its  best  aspects.  At  once,  he  exhibited  his  instinct 
toward  the  quality  of  mercy,  and,  too,  his  trust  in  the 
father  whom  he  loved,  by  his  eager  comment. 

"And  Dad  went  to  court  to  get  her  out  of  the  scrape. 
That's  just  like  the  old  man  I" 

Sarah,  however,  showed  no  hint  of  enthusiasm.  Her 
mind  was  ever  of  the  prosaic  sort,  little  prone  to  flights. 
In  that  prosaic  quality  was  to  be  found  the  explanation 
of  her  dependability  as  a  private  secretary.  So,  now, 
she  merely  made  a  terse  statement. 

"She  was  tried  to-day,  and  convicted.  The  judge  sent 
for  Mr.  Gilder  to  come  down  this  morning  and  have  a 
talk  with  him  about  the  sentence." 

There  was  no  lessening  of  the  expression  of  certainty 
on  the  young  man's  face.  He  loved  his  father,  and  he 
trusted  where  he  loved. 

"It  will  be  all  right,"  he  declared,  in  a  tone  of  entire 
conviction.  "Dad's  heart  is  as  big  as  a  barrel.  He'll 
get  her  off." 


A  CHEERFUL  PRODIGAL  27 

Then,  of  a  sudden,  Dick  gave  a  violent  start.  He 
added  a  convincing  groan. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  exclaimed,  dismally.  There  was 
shame  in  his  voice.  "I  forgot  all  about  it!" 

The  secretary  regarded  him  with  an  expression  of 
amazement. 

"All  about  what?"  she  questioned. 

Dick  assumed  an  air  vastly  more  confidential  than  at 
any  time  hitherto.  He  leaned  toward  the  secretary's 
desk,  and  spoke  with  a  new  seriousness  of  manner: 

"Sadie,  have  you  any  money?  I'm  broke !  My  taxi* 
has  been  waiting  outside  all  this1  time." 

"Why,  yes,"  the  secretary  said,  cheerfully.  "If  you 
will " 

Dick  was  discreet  enough  to  turn  his  attention  to  a 
picture  on  the  wall  opposite  while  Sarah  went  through 
those  acrobatic  performances  obligatory  on  women  who 
take  no  chances  of  losing  money  by  carrying  it  in  purses. 

"There!"  she  called  after  a  few  panting  seconds,  and 
exhibited  a  flushed  face. 

Dick  turned  eagerly  and  seized  the  banknote  offered 
him. 

"Mighty  much  obliged,  Sadie,"  he  said,  enthusias 
tically.  "But  I  must  run.  Otherwise,  this  wouldn't  be 
enough  for  the  fare!"  And,  so  saying,  he  darted  out 
of  the  room. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ONLY  THREE  YEARS. 

When,  at  last,  the  owner  of  the  store  entered  the 
office,  his  face  showed  extreme  irritation.  He  did  not 
vouchsafe  any  greeting  to  the  secretary,  who  regarded 
him  with  an  accurate  perception  of  his  mood.  With  a 
diplomacy  born  of  long  experience,  in  her  first  speecK 
Sarah  afforded  an  agreeable  diversion  to  her  employer's 
line  of  thought. 

"Mr.  Hastings,  of  the  Empire  store,  called  you  up, 
Mr.  Gilder,  and  asked  me  to  let  him  know  when  you 
returned.  Shall  I  get  him  on  the  wire?" 

The  man's  face  lightened  instantly,  and  there  wai 
even  the  beginning  of  a  smile  on  his  lips  as  he  seated 
himself  at  the  great  mahogany  desk. 

"Yes,  yes!"  he  exclaimed,  with  evident  enthusiasm. 
The  smile  grew  in  the  short  interval  before  the  connec 
tion  was  made.  When,  finally,  he  addressed  his  friend 
over  the  telephone,  his  tones  were  of  the  cheerfulest. 

"Oh,  good  morning.  Yes,  certainly.  Four  will  suit 
me  admirably.  .  .  .  Sunday?  Yes,  if  you  like.  We 
can  go  out  after  church,  and  have  luncheon  at  the  coun 
try  club."  After  listening  a  moment,  he  laughed  in  a 
pleased  fashion  that  had  in  it  a  suggestion  of  conscious 
superiority.  "My  dear  fellow,"  he  declared  briskly, 

28 


ONLY  THREE  YEARS  29 

"you  couldn't  beat  me  in  a  thousand  years.  Why,  I 
made  the  eighteen  holes  in  ninety-two  only  last  week." 
He  laughed  again  at  the  answer  over  the  wire,  then 
hung  up  the  receiver  and  pushed  the  telephone  aside,  as 
he  turned  his  attention  to  the  papers  neatly  arranged  on 
the  desk  ready  to  his  hand. 

The  curiosity  of  the  secretary  could  not  be  longer 
delayed. 

What  did  they  do  with  the  Turner  girl  ?"  she  inquired 
in  an  elaborately  casual  manner. 

Gilder  did  not  look  up  from  the  heap  of  papers,  but 
answered  rather  harshly,  while  once  again  his  expres- 
•ion  grew  forbidding. 

"I  don't  know — I  couldn't  wait,"  he  said.  He  made 
a  petulant  gesture  as  he  went  on :  "I  don't  see  why  Judge 
Lawlor  bothered  me  about  the  matter.  He  is  the  one 
to  impose  sentence,  not  I.  I  am  hours  behind  with  my 
work  now." 

For  a  few  minutes  he  gave  himself  up  to  the  routine 
of  business,  distributing  the  correspondence  and  other 
rarious  papers  for  the  action  of  subordinates,  and  speak 
ing  his  orders  occasionally  to  the  attentive  secretary  with 
a  quickness  and  precision  that  proclaimed  the  capable 
executive.  The  observer  would  have  realized  at  once 
that  here  was  a  man  obviously  fitted  to  the  control  of 
large  affairs.  The  ability  that  marches  inevitably  to  suc 
cess  showed  unmistakably  in  the  face  and  form,  and 
in  the  fashion  of  speech.  Edward  Gilder  was  a  big  man 
physically,  plainly  the  possessor  of  that  abundant  vital 
energy  which  is  a  prime  requisite  for  achievement  in 


30  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

the  ordering  of  modern  business  concerns.  Force  was, 
indeed,  the  dominant  quality  of  the  man.  His  tall  fig 
ure  was  proportionately  broad,  and  he  was  heavily 
fleshed.  In  fact,  the  body  was  too  ponderous.  Per 
haps,  in  that  characteristic  might  be  found  a  clue  to  the 
chief  fault  in  his  nature.  For  he  was  ponderous,  spirit 
ually  and  mentally,  as  well  as  materially.  The  fact  was 
displayed  suggestively  in  the  face,  which  was  too  heavy 
with  its  prominent  jowls  and  aggressive  chin  and  rather 
bulbous  nose.  But  there  was  nothing  flabby  anywhere. 
The  ample  features  showed  no  trace  of  weakness,  only 
a  rude,  abounding  strength.  There  was  no  lighter  touch 
anywhere.  Evidently  a  just  man  according  to  his  own 
ideas,  yet  never  one  to  temper  justice  with  mercy.  He 
appeared,  and  was,  a  very  practical  and  most  prosaic 
business  man.  He  was  not  given  to  a  humorous  outlook 
on  life.  He  took  it  and  himself  with  the  utmost  seri 
ousness.  He  was  almost  entirely  lacking  in  imagination, 
that  faculty  which  is  essential  to  sympathy. 

"Take  this,"  he  directed  presently,  when  he  had  dis 
posed  of  the  matters  before  him.  Forthwith,  he  dic 
tated  the  following  letter,  and  now  his  voice  took  on  a 
more  unctuous  note,  as  of  one  who  is  appreciative  of 
his  own  excellent  generosity. 

"THE  EDITOR, 

"The  New  York  Herald. 

"DEAR  SIR:  Inclosed  please  find  my  check  for  a 
thousand  dollars  for  your  free-ice  fund.  It  is  going 
to  be  a  very  hard  summer  for  the  poor,  and  I  hope  by 


ONLY  THREE  YEARS  31 

thus  starting  the  contributions  for  your  fine  charity  at 
this  early  day  that  you  will  be  able  to  accomplish  even 
more  good  than  usually. 

"Very  truly  yours." 

He  turned  an  inquiring  glance  toward  Sarah. 

"That's  what  I  usually  give,  isn't  it?" 

The  secretary  nodded  energetically. 

"Yes,"  she  agreed  in  her  brisk  manner,  "that's  what 
you  have  given  every  year  for  the  last  ten  years." 

The  statement  impressed  Gilder  pleasantly.  His 
voice  was  more  mellow  as  he  made  comment.  His 
heavy  face  was  radiant,  and  he  smiled  complacently. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars  to  this  one  charity  alone !"  he 
exclaimed.  "Well,  it  is  pleasant  to  be  able  to  help  those 
less  fortunate  than  ourselves."  He  paused,  evidently 
expectant  of  laudatory  corroboration  from  the  secretary. 

But  Sarah,  though  she  could  be  tactful  enough  on  oc 
casion,  did  not  choose  to  meet  her  employer's  anticipa 
tions  just  now.  For  that  matter,  her  intimate  services 
permitted  on  her  part  some  degree  of  familiarity  with 
the  august  head  of  the  establishment.  Besides,  she  did 
not  stand  in  awe  of  Gilder,  as  did  the  others  in  his  ser 
vice.  No  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet,  or  to  his  secretary. 
Intimate  association  is  hostile  to  hero-worship.  So,  now, 
Sarah  spoke  nonchalantly,  to  the  indignation  of  the  phil 
anthropist  : 

"Oh,  yes,  sir.  Specially  when  you  make  so  much  that 
you  don't  miss  it." 

Gilder's  thick  gray  brows  drew  down  in  a  frown  of 


32  WITHIN  THE  LAW, 

displeasure,  while  his  eyes  opened  slightly  in  sheer  sur 
prise  over  the  secretary's  unexpected  remark.  He  hesi 
tated  for  only  an  instant  before  replying  with  an  air 
of  great  dignity,  in  which  was  a  distinct  note  of  rebuka 
for  the  girl's  presumption. 

"The  profits  from  my  store  are  large,  I  admit,  Sarah* 
But  I  neither  smuggle  my  goods,  take  rebates  from  rail 
roads,  conspire  against  small  competitors,  nor  do  any  of 
the  dishonest  acts  that  disgrace  other  lines  of  business. 
So  long  as  I  make  my  profits  honestly,  I  am  honestly 
entitled  to  them,  no  matter  how  big  they  are." 

The  secretary,  being  quite  content  with  the  havoc  she 
had  wrought  in  her  employer's  complacency  over  his 
charitableness,  nodded,  and  contented  herself  with  a 
demure  assent  to  his  outburst. 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  agreed,  very  meekly. 

Gilder  stared  at  her  for  a  few  seconds,  somewhat  in 
dignantly.  Then,  he  bethought  himself  of  a  subtle  form 
of  rebuke  by  emphasizing  his  generosity. 

"Have  the  cashier  send  my  usual  five  hundred  to  the 
Charities  Organization  Society,"  he  ordered.  With  this 
new  evidence  of  his  generous  virtue,  the  frown  passed 
from  his  brows.  If,  for  a  fleeting  moment,  doubt  had 
assailed  him  under  the  spur  of  the  secretary's  words* 
that  doubt  had  now  vanished  under  his  habitual  convic 
tion  as  to  his  sterling  worth  to  the  world  at  large. 

It  was,  therefore,  with  his  accustomed  blandness  of 
manner  that  he  presently  acknowledged  the  greeting  of 
George  Demarest,  the  chief  of  the  legal  staff  that  looked 
after  the  firm's  affairs.  He  was  aware  without  being 


ONLY  THREE  YEARS  33 

told  that  the  lawyer  had  called  to  acquaint  him  with  the 
issue  in  the  trial  of  Mary  Turner. 

"Well,  Demarest?"  he  inquired,  as  the  dapper  attor 
ney  advanced  into  the  room  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  came 
to  a  halt  facing  the  desk,  after  a  lively  nod  in  the  direc 
tion  of  the  secretary. 

The  lawyer's  face  sobered,  and  his  tone  as  he  an 
swered  was  tinged  with  constraint. 

"Judge  Lawlor  gave  her  three  years,"  he  replied, 
gravely.  It  was  plain  from  his  manner  that  he  did  not 
altogether  approve. 

But  Gilder  was  unaffected  by  the  attorney's  lack  of 
satisfaction  over  the  result.  On  the  contrary,  he  smiled 
exultantly.  His  oritund  voice  took  on  a  deeper  note,  as 
he  turned  toward  the  secretary. 

"Good!"  he  exclaimed.  "Take  this,  Sarah."  And 
he  continued,  as  the  girl  opened  her  notebook  and  poised 
the  pencil:  "Be  sure  to  have  Smithson  post  a  copy  of  it 
conspicuously  in  all  the  girls'  dressing-rooms,  and  in  the 
reading-room,  and  in  the  lunch-rooms,  and  in  the  assem 
bly-room."  He  cleared  his  throat  ostentatiously  and 
proceeded  to  the  dictation  of  the  notice : 

"Mary  Turner,  formerly  employed  in  this  store,  was 
to-day  sentenced  to  prison  for  three  years,  having  been 
convicted  for  the  theft  of  goods  valued  at  over  four 
hundred  dollars.  The  management  wishes  again  to 
draw  attention  on  the  part  of  its  employees  to  the  fact 
that  honesty  is  always  the  best  policy.  .  .  .  Got  that?" 

"Yes,  sir."  The  secretary's  voice  was  mechanical, 
without  any  trace  of  feeling.  She  was  not  minded  to 


34  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

disturb  her  employer  a  second  time  this  morning  by  in 
judicious  comment. 

"Take  it  to  Smithson,"  Gilder  continued,  "and  tell 
him  that  I  wish  him  to  attend  to  its  being  posted  ac 
cording  to  my  directions  at  once." 

Again,  the  girl  made  her  formal  response  in  the 
affirmative,  then  left  the  room. 

Gilder  brought  forth  a  box  of  cigars  from  a  drawer 
of  the  desk,  opened  it  and  thrust  it  toward  the  waiting 
lawyer,  who,  however,  shook  his  head  in  refusal,  and 
continued  to  move  about  the  room  rather  restlessly. 
Demarest  paid  no  attention  to  the  other's  invitation  to 
a  seat,  but  the  courtesy  was  perfunctory  on  Gilder's 
part,  and  he  hardly  perceived  the  perturbation  of  his 
caller,  for  he  was  occupied  in  selecting  and  lighting  a 
cigar  with  the  care  of  a  connoisseur.  Finally,  he  spoke 
again,  and  now  there  was  an  infinite  contentment  in  the 
rich  voice. 

"Three  years — three  years !  That  ought  to  be  a  warn 
ing  to  the  rest  of  the  girls."  He  looked  toward  Dem 
arest  for  acquiescence. 

The  lawyer's  brows  were  knit  as  he  faced  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  store. 

"Funny  thing,  this  case!"  he  ejaculated.  "In  some 
features,  one  of  the  most  unusual  I  have  seen  since  I 
have  been  practising  law." 

The  smug  contentment  abode  still  on  Gilder's  face 
as  he  puffed  in  leisurely  ease  on  his  cigar  and  uttered 
a  trite  condolence. 

"Very  sad! — quite  so!     Very  sad  case,  I  call  it." 


ONLY  THREE  YEARS  35, 

Demarest  went  on  speaking,  with  a  show  of  feeling: 
"Most  unusual  case,  in  my  estimation.  You  see,  the 
girl  keeps  on  declaring  her  innocence.  That,  of  course, 
is  common  enough  in  a  way.  But  here,  it's  different. 
The  point  is,  somehow,  she  makes  her  protestations  more 
convincing  than  they  usually  do.  They  ring  true,  as  it 


seems  to  me." 


Gilder  smiled  tolerantly. 

"They  didn't  ring  very  true  to  the  jury,  it  would 
seem,"  he  retorted.  And  his  voice  was  tart  as  he  added: 
"Nor  to  the  judge,  since  he  deemed  it  his  duty  to  give 
her  three  years." 

"Some  persons  are  not  very  sensitive  to  impressions 
in  such  cases,  I  admit,"  Demarest  returned,  coolly.  If 
he  meant  any  subtlety  of  allusion  to  his  hearer,  it  failed 
wholly  to  pierce  the  armor  of  complacency. 

"The  stolen  goods  were  found  in  her  locker,"  Gilder 
declared  in  a  tone  of  finality.  "Some  of  them,  I  have 
been  given  to  understand,  were  actually  in  the  pocket 
of  her  coat." 

"Well,"  the  attorney  said  with  a  smile,  "that  sort  of 
thing  makes  good-enough  circumstantial  evidence,  and 
without  circumstantial  evidence  there  would  be  few  con 
victions  for  crime.  Yet,  as  a  lawyer,  I'm  free  to  admit 
that  circumstantial  evidence  alone  is  never  quite  safe  as 
proof  of  guilt.  Naturally,  she  says  some  one  else  must 
have  put  the  stolen  goods  there.  As  a  matter  of  exact 
reasoning,  that  is  quite  within  the  measure  of  possibil 
ity.  That  sort  of  thing  has  been  done  countless  times.15 

Gilder  sniffed  indignantly. 


3 6  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"And  for  what  reason?"  he  demanded.  "It's  too  ab 
surd  to  think  about." 

"In  similar  cases,"  the  lawyer  answered,  "those  actu 
ally  guilty  of  the  thefts  have  thus  sought  to  throw  sus 
picion  on  the  innocent  in  order  to  avoid  it  on  themselves 
when  the  pursuit  got  too  hot  on  their  trail.  Sometimes, 
too,  such  evidence  has  been  manufactured  merely  to 
satisfy  a  spite  against  the  one  unjustly  accused." 

"It's  too  absurd  to  think  about,"  Gilder  repeated,  im 
patiently.  "The  judge  and  the  jury  found  no  fault  with 
the  evidence." 

Demarest  realized  that  this  advocacy  in  behalf  of  the 
girl  was  hardly  fitting  on  the  part  of  the  legal  repre 
sentative  of  the  store  she  was  supposed  to  have  robbed, 
so  he  abruptly  changed  his  line  of  argument. 

"She  says  that  her  record  of  five  years  in  your  employ 
ought  to  count  something  in  her  favor." 

Gilder,  however,  was  not  disposed  to  be  sympathetic 
as  to  a  matter  so  flagrantly  opposed  to  his  interests. 

"A  court  of  justice  has  decreed  her  guilty,"  he  as 
serted  once  again,  in  his  ponderous  manner.  His  em 
phasis  indicated  that  there  the  affair  ended. 

Demarest  smiled  cynically  as  he  strode  to  and  fro. 

"Nowadays,"  he  shot  out,  "we  don't  call  them  courts 
of  justice :  we  call  them  courts  of  law." 

Gilder  yielded  only  a  rather  dubious  smile  over  the 
quip.  This  much  he  felt  that  he  could  afford,  since 
those  same  courts  served  his  personal  purposes  well  in 
deed. 

"Anyway,"  he  declared,  becoming  genial  again,  "it's 


ONLY  THREE  YEARS  37 

out  of  our  hands.    There's  nothing  we  can  do,  now." 

"Why,  as  to  that,"  the  lawyer  replied,  with  a  hint  of 
hesitation,  "I  am  not  so  sure.  You  see,  the  fact  of  the 
matter  is  that,  though  I  helped  to  prosecute  the  case,  I 
am  not  a  little  bit  proud  of  the  verdict." 

Gilder  raised  his  eyebrows  in  unfeigned  astonish 
ment.  Even  yet,  he  was  quite  without  appreciation  of 
the  attorney's  feeling  in  reference  to  the  conduct  of  the 
case. 

"Why?"  he  questioned,  sharply. 

"Because,"  the  lawyer  said,  again  halting  directly  be 
fore  the  desk,  "in  spite  of  all  the  evidence  against  her, 
I  am  not  sure  that  Mary  Turner  is  guilty — far  from 
it,  in  fact!" 

Gilder  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  contempt,  but  Dem- 
arest  went  on  resolutely. 

"Anyhow,"  he  explained,  "the  girl  wants  to  see  you, 
and  I  wish  to  urge  you  to  grant  her  an  interview." 

Gilder  flared  at  this  suggestion,  and  scowled  wrath- 
fully  on  the  lawyer,  who,  perhaps  with  professional  pru 
dence,  had  turned  away  in  his  rapid  pacing  of  the  room. 

"What's  the  use?"  Gilder  stormed.  A  latent  hard 
ness  revealed  itself  at  the  prospect  of  such  a  visitation. 
And  along  with  this  hardness  came  another  singular  rev 
elation  of  the  nature  of  the  man.  For  there  was  con 
sternation  in  his  voice,  as  he  continued  in  vehement  ex 
postulation  against  the  idea.  If  there  was  harshness  in 
his  attitude  there  was,  too,  a  fugitive  suggestion  of  ten 
derness  alarmed  over  the  prospect  of  undergoing  such 
an  interview  with  a  woman. 


38  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"I  can't  have  her  crying  all  over  the  office  and  beg 
ging  for  mercy,"  he  protested,  truculently.  But  a  note 
of  fear  lay  under  the  petulance. 

Demarest's  answer  was  given  with  assurance. 

"You  are  mistaken  about  that.  The  girl  doesn't  beg 
for  mercy.  In  fact,  that's  the  whole  point  of  the  matter. 
She  demands  justice — strange  as  that  may  seem,  in  a 
court  of  law ! — and  nothing  else.  The  truth  is,  she's  a 
very  unusual  girl,  a  long  way  beyond  the  ordinary  sales 
girl,  both  in  brains  and  in  education." 

"The  less  reason,  then,  for  her  being  a  thief,"  Gilder 
grumbled  in  his  heaviest  voice. 

"And  perhaps  the  less  reason  for  believing  her  to  be 
a  thief,"  the  lawyer  retorted,  suavely.  He  paused  for  a 
•moment,  then  went  on.  There  was  a  tone  of  sincere 
determination  in  his  voice.  "Just  before  the  judge  im 
posed  sentence,  he  asked  her  if  she  had  anything  to  say. 
You  know,  it's  just  a  usual  form — a  thing  that  rarely 
•means  much  of  anything.  But  this  case  was  different, 
•let  me  tell  you.  She  surprised  us  all  by  answering  at 
once  that  she  had.  It's  really  a  pity,  Gilder,  that  you 
didn't  wait.  Why,  that  poor  girl  made  a — damn — fine 
speech !" 

The  lawyer's  forensic  aspirations  showed  in  his 
honest  appreciation  of  the  effectiveness  of  such  ora 
tory  from  the  heart  as  he  had  heard  in  the  courtroom 
that  day. 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  came  the  querulous  objection.  "She 
seems  to  have  hypnotized  you."  Then,  as  a  new  thought 
came  to  the  magnate,  he  spoke  with  a  trace  of  anxiety. 


ONLY  THREE  YEARS  39 

There  were  always  the  reporters,  looking  for  space  to 
fill  with  foolish  vaporings. 

"Did  she  say  anything  against  me,  or  the  store  ?" 
"Not  a  word,"  the  lawyer  replied,  gravely.  His 
smile  of  appreciation  was  discreetly  secret.  "She  mere 
ly  told  us  how  her  father  died  when  she  was  sixteen 
years  old.  She  was  compelled  after  that  to  earn  her 
own  living.  Then  she  told  how  she  had  worked  for  you 
for  five  years  steadily,  without  there  ever  being  a  single 
thing  against  her.  She  said,  too,  that  she  had  never 
seen  the  things  found  in  her  locker.  And  she  said  more 
than  that !  She  asked  the  judge  if  he  himself  understood 
what  it  means  for  a  girl  to  be  sentenced  to  prison  for 
something  she  hadn't  done.  Somehow,  Gilder,  the  way 
she  talked  had  its  effect  on  everybody  in  the  courtroom. 
I  know!  It's  my  business  to  understand  things  like 
that.  And  what  she  said  rang  true.  What  she  said,  and 
the  way  she  said  it,  take  brains  and  courage.  The  ordi 
nary  crook  has  neither.  So,  I  had  a  suspicion  that  she 
might  be  speaking  the  truth.  You  see,  Gilder,  it  all 
rang  true!  And  it's  my  business  to  know  how  things 
ring  in  that  way."  There  was  a  little  pause,  while  the 
lawyer  moved  back  and  forth  nervously.  Then,  he 
added:  "I  believe  Lawlor  would  have  suspended  sen 
tence  if  it  hadn't  been  for  your  talk  with  him." 

There  were  not  wanting  signs  that  Gilder  was  im 
pressed.  But  the  gentler  fibers  of  the  man  were  atro 
phied  by  the  habits  of  a  lifetime.  What  heart  he  had 
once  possessed  had  been  buried  in  the  grave  of  his 
young  wife,  to  be  resurrected  only  for  his  son.  In  most 


40  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

things,  he  was  consistently  a  hard  man.  Since  he  had 
no  imagination,  he  could  have  no  real  sympathy. 

He  whirled  about  in  his  swivel  chair,  and  blew  a  cloud 
of  smoke  from  his  mouth.  When  he  spoke,  his  voice 
was  deeply  resonant. 

"I  simply  did  my  duty,"  he  said.  "You  are  aware 
that  I  did  not  seek  any  consultation  with  Judge  Lawlor. 
He  sent  for  me,  and  asked  me  what  I  thought  about  the 
case — whether  I  thought  it  would  be  right  to  let  the  girl 
go  on  a  suspended  sentence.  I  told  him  frankly  that  I 
believed  that  an  example  should  be  made  of  her,  for 
the  sake  of  others  who  might  be  tempted  to  steal.  Prop 
erty  has  some  rights,  Demarest,  although  it  seems  to  be 
getting  nowadays  so  that  anybody  is  likely  to  deny  it." 
Then  the  fretful,  half-alarmed  note  sounded  in  his  voice 
again,  as  he  continued:  "I  can't  understand  why  the  girl 
wants  to  see  me." 

The  lawyer  smiled  dryly,  since  he  had  his  back  turned 
at  the  moment. 

"Why,"  he  vouchsafed,  "she  just  said  that,  if  you 
would  see  her  for  ten  minutes,  she  would  tell  you  how 
to  stop  the  thefts  in  this  store." 

Gilder  displayed  signs  of  triumph.  He  brought  his 
chair  to  a  level  and  pounded  the  desk  with  a  weighty 
fist. 

"There!"  he  cried.  "I  knew  it.  The  girl  wants  to 
confess.  Well,  it's  the  first  sign  of  decent  feeling  she's 
shown.  I  suppose  it  ought  to  be  encouraged.  Prob 
ably  there  have  been  others  mixed  up  in  this." 

Demarest  attempted  no  denial. 


ONLY  THREE  YEARS  41 

"Perhaps,"  he  admitted,  though  he  spoke  altogether 
without  conviction.  "But,"  he  continued  insinuatingly, 
"at  least  it  can  do  no  harm  if  you  see  her.  I  thought 
you  would  be  willing,  so  I  spoke  to  the  District  Attorney, 
and  he  has  given  orders  to  bring  her  here  for  a  few 
minutes  on  the  way  to  the  Grand  Central  Station. 
They're  taking  her  up  to  Burnsing,  you  know.  I  wish, 
Gilder,  you  would  have  a  little  talk  with  her.  No  harm 
in  that!"  With  the  saying,  the  lawyer  abruptly  went 
out  of  the  office,  leaving  the  owner  of  the  store  fuming. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

KISSES  AND  KLEPTOMANIA. 

"Hello,  Dad!" 

After  the  attorney's  departure,  Gilder  had  been  rather 
fussily  going  over  some  of  the  papers  on  his  desk.  He 
was  experiencing  a  vague  feeling  of  injury  on  account 
of  the  lawyer's  ill-veiled  efforts  to  arouse  his  sympathy 
in  behalf  of  the  accused  girl.  In  the  instinct  of  strength 
ening  himself  against  the  possibility  of  yielding  to  what 
he  deemed  weakness,  the  magnate  rehearsed  the  facts 
that  justified  his  intolerance,  and,  indeed,  soon  came  to 
gloating  over  the  admirable  manner  in  which  righteous 
ness  thrives  in  the  world.  And  it  was  then  that  an  inter 
ruption  came  in  the  utterance  of  two  words,  words  of 
affection,  of  love,  cried  out  in  the  one  voice  he  most 
longed  to  hear — for  the  voice  was  that  of  his  son.  Yet, 
he  did  not  look  up.  The  thing  was  altogether  impossi 
ble  !  The  boy  was  philandering,  junketing,  somewhere 
on  the  Riviera.  His  first  intimation  as  to  the  exact 
place  would  come  in  the  form  of  a  cable  asking  for 
money.  Somehow,  his  feelings  had  been  unduly  stirred 
that  morning;  he  had  grown  sentimental,  dreaming  of 
pleasant  things.  ...  All  this  in  a  second.  Then,  he 
looked  up.  Why,  it  was  true !  It  was  Dick's  face  there, 
smiling  in  the  doorway.  Yes,  it  was  Dick,  it  was  Dick 

42 


KISSES  AND  KLEPTOMANIA  43 

himself!  Gilder  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  face  suddenly 
grown  younger,  radiant. 

"Dick!"  The  big  voice  was  softened  to  exquisite 
tenderness. 

As  the  eyes  of  the  two  met,  the  boy  rushed  forward, 
and  in  the  next  moment  the  hands  of  father  and  son 
clasped  firmly.  They  were  silent  in  the  first  emotion 
of  their  greeting.  Presently,  Gilder  spoke,  with  an  effort 
toward  harshness  in  his  voice  to  mask  how  much  he 
was  shaken.  But  the  tones  rang  more  kindly  than  any 
he  had  used  for  many  a  day,  tremulous  with  affection. 

"What  brought  you  back?"  he  demanded. 

Dick,  too,  had  felt  the  tension  of  an  emotion  far  be 
yond  that  of  the  usual  things.  He  was  forced  to  clear 
his  throat  before  he  answered  with  that  assumption  of 
nonchalance  which  he  regarded  as  befitting  the  occasion. 

"Why,  I  just  wanted  to  come  back  home,"  he  said; 
lightly.  A  sudden  recollection  came  to  give  him  poise 
in  this  time  of  emotional  disturbance,  and  he  added  has 
tily:  "And,  for  the  love  of  heaven,  give  Sadie  five  dol 
lars.  I  borrowed  it  from  her  to  pay  the  taxi'.  You  see, 
Dad,  I'm  broke." 

"Of  course!"  With  the  saying,  Edward  Gilder 
roared  Gargantuan  laughter.  In  the  burst  of  merri 
ment,  his  pent  feelings  found  their  vent.  He  was  still 
chuckling  when  he  spoke,  sage  from  much  experience  of 
ocean  travel.  "Poker  on  the  ship,  I  suppose." 

The  young  man,  too,  smiled  reminiscently  as  he  an 
swered  : 

"No,  not  that,  though  I  did  have  a  little  run  in  at 


44  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Monte  Carlo.  But  it  was  the  ship  that  finished  me,  at 
that.  You  see,  Dad,  they  hired  Captain  Kidd  and  a 
bunch  of  pirates  as  stewards,  and  what  they  did  to  little 
Richard  was  something  fierce.  And  yet,  that  wasn't  the 
real  trouble,  either.  The  fact  is,  I  just  naturally  went 
broke.  Not  a  hard  thing  to  do  on  the  other  side." 

"Nor  on  this,"  the  father  interjected,  dryly. 

"Anyhow,  it  doesn't  matter  much,"  Dick  replied,  quite 
unabashed.  "Tell  me,  Dad,  how  goes 'it?" 

Gilder  settled  himself  again  in  his  chair,  and  gazed 
benignantly  on  his  son. 

"Pretty  well,"  he  said  contentedly;  "pretty  well, 
son.  I'm  glad  to  see  you  home  again,  my  boy."  There 
was  a  great  tenderness  in  the  usually  rather  cold  gray 
eyes. 

The  young  man  answered  promptly,  with  delight  in 
his  manner  of  speech,  and  a  sincerity  that  revealed  the 
underlying  merit  of  his  nature. 

"And  I'm  glad  to  be  home,  Dad,  to  be" — there  was 
again  that  clearing  of  the  throat,  but  he  finished  brave 
ly — "with  you." 

The  father  avoided  a  threatening  display  of  emotion 
by  an  abrupt  change  of  subject  to  the  trite. 

"Have  a  good  time?"  he  inquired  casually,  while  fum 
bling  with  the  papers  on  the  desk. 

Dick's  face  broke  in  a  smile  of  reminiscent  happi 
ness. 

"The  time  of  my  young  life!"  He  paused,  and  the 
smile  broadened.  There  was  a  mighty  enthusiasm  in 
his  voice  as  he  continued:  "I  tell  you,  Dad,  it's  a  fact 


KISSES  AND  KLEPTOMANIA  45 

that  I  did  almost  break  the  bank  at  Monte  Carlo.  I'd 
have  done  it  sure,  if  only  my  money  had  held  out." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I've  heard  something  of  the 
sort  before,"  was  Gilder's  caustic  comment.  But  his 
smile  was  still  wholly  sympathetic.  He  took  a  curious 
vicarious  delight  in  the  escapades  of  his  son,  probably 
because 'he  himself  had  committed  no  follies  in  his  cal 
low  days.  "Why  didn't  you  cable  me?"  he  asked,  puz 
zled  at  such  restraint  on  the  part  of  his  son. 

Dick  answered  with  simple  sincerity. 

"Because  it  gave  me  a  capital  excuse  for  coming 
home." 

It  was  Sarah  who  afforded  a  diversion.  She  had 
known  Dick  while  he  was  yet  a  child,  had  bought  him 
candy,  had  felt  toward  him  a  maternal  liking  that  in 
creased  rather  than  diminished  as  he  grew  to  manhood. 
Now,  her  face  lighted  at  sight  of  him,  and  she  smiled 
a  welcome. 

"I  see  you  have  found  him,"  she  said,  with  a  ripple 
of  laughter. 

Dick  welcomed  this  interruption  of  the  graver  mood. 

"Sadie,"  he  said,  with  a  manner  of  the  utmost  seri 
ousness,  "you  are  looking  finer  than  ever.  And  how 
thin  you  have  grown  1" 

The  girl,  eager  with  fond  fancies  toward  the  slender 
ideal,  accepted  the  compliment  literally. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Dick!"  she  exclaimed,  rapturously.  "How 
much  do  you  think  I  have  lost?" 

The  whimsical  heir  of  the  house  of  Gilder  surveyed 
his  victim  critically,  then  spoke  with  judicial  solemnity. 


46  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"About  two  ounces,  Sadie." 

There  came  a  look  of  deep  hurt  on  Sadie's  face 
at  the  flippant  jest,  which  Dick  himself  was  quick  to 
note. 

He  had  not  guessed  she  was  thus  acutely  sensitive  con 
cerning  her  plumpness.  Instantly,  he  was  all  contrition 
over  his  unwitting  offense  inflicted  on  her  womanly 
vanity. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,  Sadie,"  he  exclaimed  penitently. 
"Please  don't  be  really  angry  with  me.  Of  course,  I 
didn't  mean " 

"To  twit  on  facts!"  the  secretary  interrupted,  bit 
terly. 

"Pooh!"  Dick  cried,  craftily.  "You  aren't  plump 
enough  to  be  sensitive  about  it.  Why,  you're  just  right." 
There  was  something  very  boyish  about  his  manner,  as 
he  caught  at  the  girl's  arm.  A  memory  of  the  days 
when  she  had  cuddled  him  caused  him  to  speak  warmly, 
forgetting  the  presence  of  his  father.  "Now,  don't  be 
angry,  Sadie.  Just  give  me  a  little  kiss,  as  you  used  to 
do."  He  swept  her  into  his  arms,  and  his  lips  met  hers 
in  a  hearty  caress.  "There!"  he  cried.  "Just  to  show, 
there's  no  ill  feeling." 

The  girl  was  completely  mollified,  though  in  much 
embarrassment. 

"Why,  Mr.  Dick!"  she  stammered,  in  confusion. 
"Why,  Mr.  Dick!" 

Gilder,  who  had  watched  the  scene  in  great  astonish 
ment,  now  interposed  to  end  it. 

"Stop,   Dick!"  he  commanded,   crisply.     "You   are 


KISSES  AND  KLEPTOMANIA  47 

actually  making  Sarah  blush.  I  think  that's  about 
enough,  son." 

But  a  sudden  unaccustomed  gust  of  affection  swirled 
in  the  breast  of  the  lad.  Plain  Anglo-Saxon  as  he  was, 
with  all  that  implies  as  to  the  avoidance  of  displays  of 
emotion,  nevertheless  he  had  been  for  a  long  time  in 
lands  far  from  home,  where  the  habits  of  impulsive  and 
affectionate  peoples  were  radically  unlike  our  own  aus- 
terer  forms.  So  now,  under  the  spur  of  an  impulse  sug 
gested  by  the  dalliance  with  the  buxom  secretary,  he 
grinned  widely  and  went  to  his  father. 

UA  little  kiss  never  hurts  any  one,"  he  declared,  blithe 
ly.  Then  he  added  vivaciously:  "Here,  I'll  show  you!" 

With  the  words,  he  clasped  his  arms  around  his  fath 
er's  neck,  and,  before  that  amazed  gentleman  could  un 
derstand  his  purpose,  he  had  kissed  soundly  first  the 
one  cheek  and  then  the  other,  each  with  a  hearty,  whole 
some  smack  of  filial  piety.  This  done,  he  stood  back, 
still  beaming  happily,  while  the  astounded  Sarah  tit 
tered  bewilderedly.  For  his  own  part,  Dick  was  quite 
unashamed.  He  loved  his  father.  For  once,  he  had 
expressed  that  fondness  in  a  primitive  fashion,  and  he 
was  glad. 

The  older  man  withdrew  a  step,  and  there  rested  mo 
tionless,  under  the  sway  of  an  emotion  akin  to  dismay. 
He  stood  staring  intently  at  his  son  with  a  perplexity 
in  his  expression  that  was  almost  ludicrous.  When,  at 
last,  he  spoke,  his  voice  was  a  rumble  of  strangely  shy 
pleasure. 

"God  bless  my  soul  1"  he  exclaimed,  violently.    Then 


48  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

he  raised  a  hand,  and  rubbed  first  one  cheek,  and  after 
it  its  fellow,  with  a  gentleness  that  was  significant.  The 
feeling  provoked  by  the  embrace  showed  plainly  in  his 
next  words.  "Why,  that's  the  first  time  you  have  kissed 
me,  Dick,  since  you  were  a  little  boy.  God  bless  my 
soul !"  he  repeated.  And  now  there  was  a  note  of  jubi 
lation. 

The  son,  somewhat  disturbed  by  this  emotion  he  had 
aroused,  nevertheless  answered  frankly  with  the  expres 
sion  of  his  own  feeling,  as  he  advanced  and  laid  a  hand 
on  his  father's  shoulder. 

"The  fact  is,  Dad,"  he  said  quietly,  with  a  smile  that 
was  good  to  see,  "I  am  awfully  glad  to  see  you  again." 
"Are  you,  son?"  the  father  cried  happily.  Then, 
abruptly  his  manner  changed,  for  he  felt  himself  peri 
lously  close  to  the  maudlin  in  this  new  yielding  to  senti 
mentality.  Such  kisses  of  tenderness,  however  agreeable 
in  themselves,  were  hardly  fitting  to  one  of  his  dignity. 
"You  clear  out  of  here,  boy,"  he  commanded,  brusquely. 
"I'm  a  working  man.  But  here,  wait  a  minute,"  he 
added.  He  brought  forth  from  a  pocket  a  neat  sheaf 
of  banknotes,  which  he  held  out.  "There's  carfare  for 
you,"  he  said  with  a  chuckle.  "And  now  clear  out.  I'll 
see  you  at  dinner." 

Dick  bestowed  the  money  in  his  pocket,  and  again 
turned  toward  the  door. 

"You  can  always  get  rid  of  me  on  the  same  terms," 
he  remarked  slyly.  And  then  the  young  man  gave  evi 
dence  that  he,  too,  had  some  of  his  father's  ability  in 
things  financial.  For,  in  the  doorway  he  turned  with  a 


KISSES  AND  KLEPTOMANIA  49 

final  speech,  which  was  uttered  in  splendid  diregard  for 
the  packet  of  money  he  had  just  received — perhaps, 
rather,  in  a  splendid  regard  for  it.  "Oh,  Dad,  please 
don't  forget  to  give  Sadie  that  five  dollars  I  borrowed 
from  her  for  the  taxi'."  And  with  that  impertinent  re 
minder  he  was  gone. 

The  owner  of  the  store  returned  to  his  labors  with  a 
new  zest,  for  the  meeting  with  his  son  had  put  him  in 
high  spirits.  Perhaps  it  might  have  been  better  for 
Mary  Turner  had  she  come  to  him  just  then,  while  he 
was  yet  in  this  softened  mood.  But  fate  had  ordained 
that  other  events  should  restore  him  to  his  usual  harder 
self  before  their  interview.  The  effect  was,  indeed,  pres 
ently  accomplished  by  the  advent  of  Smithson  into  the 
office.  He  entered  with  an  expression  of  discomfiture 
on  his  rather  vacuous  countenance.  He  walked  almost 
nimbly  to  the  desk  and  spoke  with  evident  distress,  as 
his  employer  looked  up  interrogatively. 

"McCracken  has  detained — er — a — lady,  sir,"  he 
said,  feebly.  "She  has  been  searched,  and  we  have 
found  about  a  hundred  dollars  worth  of  laces  on  her." 

"Well?"  Gilder  demanded,  impatiently.  Such  affairs 
were  too  common  in  the  store  to  make  necessary  this 
intrusion  of  the  matter  on  him.  "Why  did  you  come 
to  me  about  it?"  His  staff  knew  just  what  to  do  with 
shoplifters. 

At  once,  Smithson  became  apologetic,  while  refusing 
to  retreat. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  sir,"  he  said  haltingly,  "but  I  thought 


50  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

it  wiser,  sir,  to — er — to  bring  the  matter  to  your  per 
sonal  attention," 

"Quite  unnecessary,  Smithson,"  Gilder  returned,  with 
asperity.  "You  know  my  views  on  the  subject  of  prop 
erty.  Tell  McCracken  to  have  the  thief  arrested." 

Smithson  cleared  his  throat  doubtfully,  and  in  his 
stress  of  feeling  he  even  relaxed  a  trifle  that  majestical 
erectness  of  carriage  that  had  made  him  so  valuable  as 
a  floor-walker. 

"She's  not  exactly  a — er — a  thief,"  he  ventured. 

"You  are  trifling,  Smithson,"  the  owner  of  the  store 
exclaimed,  in  high  exasperation.  "Not  a  thief!  And 
you  caught  her  with  a  hundred  dollars  worth  of  laces 
that  she  hadn't  bought.  Not  a  thief !  What  in  heaven's 
name  do  you  call  her,  then  ?" 

"A  kleptomaniac,"  Smithson  explained,  retaining  his 
manner  of  mild  insistence.  "You  see,  sir,  it's  this  way. 
The  lady  happens  to  be  the  wife  of  J.  W.  Gaskell,  the 
banker,  you  know." 

Yes,  Gilder  did  know.  The  mention  of  the  name  was 
like  a  spell  in  the  effect  it  wrought  on  the  attitude  of  the 
irritated  owner  of  the  store.  Instantly,  his  expression 
changed.  While  before  his  features  had  been  set  grim 
ly,  while  his  eyes  had  flashed  wrathfully,  there  was  now 
only  annoyance  over  an  event  markedly  unfortunate. 

"How  extremely  awkward!"  he  cried;  and  there  was 
a  very  real  concern  in  his  voice.  He  regarded  Smithson 
kindly,  whereat  that  rather  puling  gentleman  once  again 
assumed  his  martial  bearing.  "You  were  quite  right  in 
coming  to  me."  For  a  moment  he  was  silent,  plunged 


KISSES  AND  KLEPTOMANIA  51 

in  thought.  Finally  he  spoke  with  the  decisiveness  char 
acteristic  of  him.  "Of  course,  there's  nothing  we  can 
do.  Just  put  the  stuff  back  on  the  counter,  and  let  her 

go-" 

But  Smithson  had  not  yet  wholly  unburdened  himself. 
Instead  of  immediately  leaving  the  room  in  pursuance  of 
the  succinct  instructions  given  him,  he  again  cleared  his 
throat  nervously,  and  made  known  a  further  aggravat 
ing  factor  in  the  situation. 

"She's  very  angry,  Mr.  Gilder,"  he  announced,  tim 
idly.  "She — er — she  demands  an — er — an  apology." 

The  owner  of  the  store  half-rose  from  his  chair,  then 
threw  himself  back  with  an  exclamation  of  disgust.  He 
again  ejaculated  the  words  with  which  he  had  greeted 
his  son's  unexpected  kisses,  but  now  there  was  a  vast 
difference  in  the  intonation. 

"God  bless  my  soul !"  he  cried.  From  his  expression, 
it  was  clear  that  a  pious  aspiration  was  farthest  from 
his  thought.  On  the  contrary!  Again,  he  fell  silent, 
considering  the  situation  which  Smithson  had  presented, 
and,  as  he  reflected,  his  frown  betrayed  the  emotion  nat 
ural  enough  under  the  circumstances.  At  last,  however, 
he  mastered  his  irritation  to  some  degree,  and  spoke  his 
command  briefly.  "Well,  Smithson,  apologize  to  her. 
It  can't  be  helped."  Then  his  face  lighted  with  a  sar 
donic  amusement.  "And,  Smithson,"  he  went  on  with  a 
sort  of  elephantine  playfulness,  "I  shall  take  it  as  a  per 
sonal  favor  if  you  will  tactfully  advise  the  lady  that  the 
goods  at  Altrnan  and  Stern's  are  really  even  finer  than 


ours." 


52  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

When  Smithson  had  left  the  office,  Gilder  turned  to 
his  secretary.  c 

"Take  this,"  he  directed,  and  he  forthwith  dictated 
the  following  letter  to  the  husband  of  the  lady  who  was 
not  a  thief,  as  Smithson  had  so  painstakingly  pointed 
out: 

"J-  W.  GASKELL,  ESQ., 

"Central  National  Bank,  New  York. 
"Mv  DEAR  MR.  GASKELL:  I  feel  that  I  should  be 
doing  less  than  my  duty  as  a  man  if  I  did  not  let  you 
know  at  once  that  Mrs.  Gaskell  is  in  urgent  need 
of  medical  attention.  She  came  into  our  store  to-day, 
and " 

He  paused  for  a  moment.  "No,  put  it  this  way,"  he 
said  finally: 

"We  found  her  wandering  about  our  store  to-day  in 
a  very  nervous  condition.  In  her  excitement,  she  carried 
away  about  one  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  rare  laces. 
Not  recognizing  her,  our  store  detective  detained  her 
for  a  short  time.  Fortunately  for  us  all,  Mrs.  Gaskell 
was  able  to  explain  who  she  was,  and  she  has  just  gone 
to  her  home.  Hoping  for  Mrs.  Gaskell's  speedy  re 
covery,  and  with  all  good  wishes,  I  am, 

"Yours  very  truly." 

Yet,  though  he  had  completed  the  letter,  Gilder  did 
not  at  once  take  up  another  detail  of  his  business.  In 
stead,  he  remained  plunged  in  thought,  and  now  his 
frown  was  one  of  simple  bewilderment.  A  number  of 


KISSES  AND  KLEPTOMANIA  53 

minutes  passed  before  he  spoke,  and  then  his  words  re 
vealed  distinctly  what  had  been  his  train  of  meditation. 

"Sadie,"  he  said  in  a  voice  of  entire  sincerity,  "I  can't 
understand  theft.  It's  a  thing  absolutely  beyond  my 
comprehension." 

On  the  heels  of  this  ingenuous  declaration,  Smithson 
entered  the  office,  and  that  excellent  gentleman  ap 
peared  even  more  perturbed  than  before. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  now?"  Gilder  splut 
tered,  suspiciously. 

"It's  Mrs.  Gaskell  still,"  Smithson  replied  in  great 
trepidation.  "She  wants  you  personally,  Mr.  Gilder,  to 
apologize  to  her.  She  says  that  the  action  taken  against 
her  is  an  outrage,  and  she  is  not  satisfied  with  the  apol 
ogies  of  all  the  rest  of  us.  She  says  you  must  make  one, 
too,  and  that  the  store  detective  must  be  discharged  for 
intolerable  insolence." 

Gilder  bounced  up  from  his  chair  angrily. 

"I'll  be  damned  if  I'll  discharge  McCracken,"  he 
vociferated,  glaring  on  Smithson,  who  shrank  visibly. 

But  that  mild  and  meek  man  had  a  certain  strength 
of  pertinacity.  Besides,  in  this  case,  he  had  been  having 
multitudinous  troubles  of  his  own,  which  could  be  ended 
only  by  his  employer's  placating  of  the  offended  klep 
tomaniac. 

"But  about  the  apology,  Mr.  Gilder,"  he  reminded, 
speaking  very  deferentially,  yet  with  insistence. 

Business  instinct  triumphed  over  the  magnate's  irri 
tation,  and  his  face  cleared. 

"Oh,  I'll  apologize,"  he  said  with  a  wry  smile  of  dis- 


54  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

comfiture.  "I'll  make  things  even  up  a  bit  when  I  get 
tin  apology  from  Gaskell.  I  shrewdly  suspect  that  that 
estimable  gentleman  is  going  to  eat  humble  pie,  of  'my 
baking,  from  his  wife's  recipe.  And  his  will  be  an  hon 
est  apology — which  mine  won't,  not  by  a  damned  sight  1" 
With  the  words,  he  left  the  room,  in  his  wake  a  hugely 
relieved  Smithson. 

Alone  in  the  office,  Sarah  neglected  her  work  for  a 
few  minutes  to  brood  over  the  startling  contrast  of 
events  that  had  just  forced  itself  on  her  attention.  She 
was  not  a  girl  given  to  the  analysis  of  either  persons  or 
things,  but  in  this  instance  the  movement  of  affairs  had 
come  close  to  her,  and  she  was  compelled  to  some  depth 
of  feeling  by  the  two  aspects  of  life  on  which  to-day  she 
looked.  In  the  one  case,  as  she  knew  it,  a  girl  under 
the  urge  of  poverty  had  stolen.  That  thief  had  been 
promptly  arrested,  finally  she  had  been  tried,  had  been 
convicted,  had  been  sentenced  to  three  years  in  prison. 
In  the  other  case,  a  woman  of  wealth  had  stolen.  There 
had  been  no  punishment.  A  euphemism-  of  klepto 
mania  had  been  offered  and  accepted  as  sufficient  excuse 
for  her  crime.  A  polite  lie  had  been  written  to  her 
husband,  a  banker  of  power  in  the  city.  To  her,  the 
proprietor  of  the  store  was  even  now  apologizing  in 
courteous  phrases  of  regret.  .  .  .  And  Mary  Turner 
had  been  sentenced  to  three  years  in  prison.  Sadie 
shook  her  head  in  dolorous  doubt,  as  she  again  bent  over 
the  keys  of  her  typewriter.  Certainly,  some  happenings 
in  this  world  of  ours  did  not  seem  quite  fair. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  VICTIM  OF  THE  LAW. 

It  was  on  this  same  day  that  Sarah,  on  one  of  her 
numerous  trips  through  the  store  in  behalf  of  Gilder, 
was  accosted  by  a  salesgirl,  whose  name,  Helen'  Morris, 
she  chanced  to  know.  It  was  in  a  spot  somewhere  out  of 
the  crowd,  so  that  for  the  moment  the  two  were  prac 
tically  alone.  The  salesgirl  showed  signs  of  embarrass 
ment  as  she  ventured  to  lay  a  detaining  hand  on  Sarah's 
arm,  but  she  maintained  her  position,  despite  the  secre 
tary's  manner  of  disapproval. 

"What  on  earth  do  you  want?"  Sarah  inquired,  snap 
pishly. 

The  salesgirl  put  her  question  at  once. 

"What  did  they  do  to  Mary  Turner?" 

"Oh,  that!"  the  secretary  exclaimed,  with  increased 
impatience  over  the  delay,  for  she  was  very  busy,  as 
always.  "You  will  all  know  soon  enough." 

"Tell  me  now."  The  voice  of  the  girl  was  singu 
larly  compelling;  there  was  something  vividly  impressive 
about  her  just  now,  though  her  pallid,  prematurely  ma 
ture  face  and  the  thin  figure  in  the  regulation  black  dress 
and  white  apron  showed  ordinarily  only  insignificant. 
"Tell  me  now,"  she  repeated,  with  a  monotonous  em 
phasis  that  somehow  moved  Sarah  to  obedience  against 
her  will,  greatly  to  her  own  surprise. 

55 


$6  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"They  sent  her  to  prison  for  three  years,"  she  an 
swered,  sharply. 

"Three  years  ?"  The  salesgirl  had  repeated  the  words 
in  a  tone  that  was  indefinable,  yet  a  tone  vehement  in 
its  incredulous  questioning.  "Three  years?"  she  said 
again,  as  one  refusing  to  believe. 

"Yes,"  Sarah  said,  impressed  by  the  girl's  earnest 
ness;  "three  years." 

"Good  God!"  There  was  no  irreverence  in  the  ex 
clamation  that  broke  from  the  girl's  lips.  Instead,  only 
a  tense  horror  that  touched  to  the  roots  of  emotion. 

Sarah  regarded  this  display  of  feeling  on  the  part  of 
the  young  woman  before  her  with  an  increasing  aston 
ishment.  It  was  not  in  her  own  nature  to  be  demon 
strative,  and  such  strong  expression  of  emotion  as  this 
she  deemed  rather  suspicious.  She  recalled,  in  addi 
tion,  the  fact  that  his  was  not  the  first  time  that  Helen 
Morris  had  shown  a  particular  interest  in  the  fate  of 
Mary  Turner.  Sarah  wondered  why. 

"Say,"  she  demanded,  with  the  directness  habitual 
to  her,  "why  are  you  so  anxious  about  it?  This  is  the 
third  time  you  have  asked  me  about  Mary  Turner. 
What's  it  to  you,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

The  salesgirl  started  violently,  and  a  deep  flush  drove 
the  accustomed  pallor  from  her  cheeks.  She  was  obvi 
ously  much  disturbed  by  the  question. 

"What  is  it  to  me?"  she  repeated  in  an  effort  to  gain 
time.  "Why,  nothing — nothing  at  all!"  Her  expres 
sion  of  distress  lightened  a  little  as  she  hit  on  an  excuse 
that  might  serve  to  justify  her  interest.  "Nothing  at: 


THE  VICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  57 

all,  only — she's  a  friend  of  mine,  a  great  friend  of  mine. 
Oh,  yes !"  Then,  in  an  instant,  the  look  of  relief  van 
ished,  as  once  again  the  terrible  reality  hammered  on  her 
consciousness,  and  an  overwhelming  dejection  showed 
in  the  dull  eyes  and  in  the  drooping  curves  of  the  white 
lips.  There  was  a  monotone  of  desolation  as  she  went 
on  speaking  in  a  whisper  meant  for  the  ears  of  no  other. 
"It's  awful — three  years!  Oh,  I  didn't  understand  1 
It's  awful! — awful!"  With  the  final  word,  she  hurried 
off,  her  head  bowed.  She  was  still  murmuring  brokenly, 
incoherently.  Her  whole  attitude  was  of  wondering 
grief. 

Sarah  stared  after  the  girl  in  complete  mystification. 
She  could  not  at  first  guess  any  possible  cause  for  an 
emotion  so  poignant.  Presently,  however,  her  shrewd, 
though  very  prosaic,  commonsense  suggested  a  simple 
explanation  of  the  girl's  extraordinary  distress. 

"I'll  bet  that  girl  has  been  tempted  to  steal.  But; 
she  didn't,  because  she  was  afraid."  With  this  satis 
factory  conclusion  of  her  wonderment,  the  secretary  hur 
ried  on  her  way,  quite  content.  It  never  occurred  to 
her  that  the  girl  might  have  been  tempted  to  steal — and 
had  not  resisted  the  temptation. 

It  was  on  account  of  this  brief  conversation  with  the 
salesgirl  that  Sarah  was  thinking  intently  of  Mary  Tur 
ner,  after  her  return  to  the  office,  from  which  Gilder 
himself  happened  to  be  absent  for  the  moment.  As  the 
secretary  glanced  up  at  the  opening  of  the  door,  she  did 
not  at  first  recognize  the  figure  outlined  there.  She 
remembered  Mary  Turner  as  a  tall,  slender  girl,  who 


5  3  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

showed  an  underlying  vitality  in  every  movement,  a  girl 
with  a  face  of  regular  features,  in  which  was  a  com 
plexion  of  blended  milk  and  roses,  with  a  radiant  joy  of 
life  shining  through  all  her  arduous  and  vulgar  condi 
tions.  Instead  of  this,  now,  she  saw  a  frail  form  that 
stood  swaying  in  the  opening  of  the  doorway,  that  bent 
in  a  sinister  fashion  which  told  of  bodily  impotence, 
while  the  face  was  quite  bloodless.  And,  too,  there  was 
over  all  else  a  pall  of  helplessness— helplessness  that 
had  endured  much,  and  must  still  endure  infinitely  more. 

As  a  reinforcement  of  the  dread  import  of  that  figure 
of  wo,  a  man  stood  beside  it,  and  one  of  his  hands  was 
clasped  around  the  girl's  wrist,  a  man  who  wore  his 
derby  hat  somewhat  far  back  on  his  bullet-shaped  head, 
whose  feet  were  conspicuous  in  shoes  with  very  heavy 
soles  and  very  square  toes. 

It  was  the  man  who  now  took  charge  of  the  situation. 
Cassidy,  from  Headquarters,  spoke  in  a  rough,  indiffer 
ent  voice,  well  suited  to  his  appearance  of  stolid 
strength. 

"The  District  Attorney  told  me  to  bring  this  girl  here 
on  my  way  to  the  Grand  Central  Station  with  her." 

Sarah  got  to  her  feet  mechanically.  Somehow,  from 
the  raucous  notes  of  the  policeman's  voice,  she  under 
stood  in  a  flash  of  illumination  that  the  pitiful  figure 
there  in  the  doorway  was  that  of  Mary  Turner,  whom 
she  had  remembered  so  different,  so  frightfully  differ 
ent.  She  spoke  with  a  miserable  effort  toward  her  usual 
liveliness. 

"Mr.  Gilder  will  be  right  back.    Come  in  and  wait." 


THE  FICTIM  OF  -THE  LAW  59 

She  wished  to  say  something  more,  something  of  wel 
come  or  of  mourning,  to  the  girl  there,  but  she  found 
herself  incapable  of  a  single  word  for  the  moment,  and 
could  only  stand  dumb  while  the  man  stepped  forward, 
with  his  charge  following  helplessly  in  his  clutch. 

The  two  went  forward  very  slowly,  the  officer,  care 
lessly  conscious  of  his  duty,  walking  with  awkward  steps 
to  suit  the  feeble  movements  of  the  girl,  the  girl  letting 
herself  be  dragged  onward,  aware  of  the  futility  of  any 
resistance  to  the  inexorable  power  that  now  had  her  in 
its  grip,  of  which  the  man  was  the  present  agent.  As 
the  pair  came  thus  falteringly  into  the  center  of  the 
room,  Sarah  at  last  found  her  voice  for  an  expression 
of  sympathy. 

"I'm  sorry,  Mary,"  she  said,  hesitatingly.  "I'm  ter 
ribly  sorry,  terribly  sorry!" 

The  girl,  who  had  halted  when  the  officer  halted,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  did  not  look  up.  She  stood  still, 
swaying  a  little  as  if  from  weakness.  Her  voice  was 
lifeless. 

"Are  you  ?"  she  said.  "I  did  not  know.  Nobody  has 
been  near  me  the  whole  time  I  have  been  in  the  Tombs." 
There  was  infinite  pathos  in  the  tones  as  she  repeated  the 
words  so  fraught  with  dreadfulness.  "Nobody  has  been 
near  me!" 

The  secretary  felt  a  sudden  glow  of  shame.  She 
realized  the  justice  of  that  unconscious  accusation,  for, 
till  to-day,  she  had  had  no  thought  of  the  suffering  girl 
there  in  the  prison.  To  assuage  remorse,  she  sought  to 
give  evidence  as  to  a  prevalent  sympathy. 


60  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "there  was  Helen  Morris 
to-day !  She  has  been  asking  about  you  again  and  again. 
She's  all  broken  up  over  your  trouble." 

But  the  effort  on  the  secretary's  part  was  wholly  with 
out  success. 

"Who  is  Helen  Morris?"  the  lifeless  voice  demand 
ed.  There  was  no  interest  in  the  question. 

Sarah  experienced  a  momentary  astonishment,  for  she 
was  still  remembering  the  feverish  excitement  displayed 
by  the  salesgirl,  who  had  declared  herself  to  be  a  most 
intimate  friend  of  the  convict.  But  the  mystery  was  to 
remain  unsolved,  since  Gilder  now  entered  the  office. 
He  walked  with  the  quick,  bustling  activity  that  was 
ordinarily  expressed  in  his  every  movement.  He  paused 
for  an  instant,  as  he  beheld  the  two  visitors  in  the  center 
of  the  room,  then  he  spoke  curtly  to  the  secretary,  while 
crossing  to  his  chair  at  the  desk. 

"You  may  go,  Sarah.  I  will  ring  when  I  wish  you 
again." 

There  followed  an  interval  of  silence,  while  the  secre 
tary  was  leaving  the  office  and  the  girl  with  her  warder 
stood  waiting  on  his  pleasure.  Gilder  cleared  his  throat 
twice  in  an  embarrassment  foreign  to  him,  before  finally 
he  spoke  to  the  girl.  At  last,  the  proprietor  of  the  store 
expressed  himself  in  a  voice  of  genuine  sympathy,  for 
the  spectacle  of  wo  presented  there  before  his  very 
eyes  moved  him  to  a  real  distress,  since  it  was  indeed 
actual,  something  that  did  not  depend  on  an  apprecia 
tion  to  be  developed  out  of  imagination. 

"My  girl,"  Gilder  said  gently— his  hard  voice  was 


THE  FICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  61 

softened  by  an  honest  regret — "my  girl,  I  am  sorry 
about  this." 

"You  should  be!"  came  the  instant  answer.  Yet, 
the  words,  were  uttered  with  a  total  lack  of  emotion.  It 
seemed  from  their  intonation  that  the  speaker  voiced 
merely  a  statement  concerning  a  recondite  matter  of 
truth,  with  which  sentiment  had  nothing  whatever  to  do. 
But  the  effect  on  the  employer  was  unfortunate.  It 
aroused  at  once  his  antagonism  against  the  girl.  His 
instinct  of  sympathy  with  which  he  had  greeted  her  at 
the  outset  was  repelled,  and  made  of  no  avail.  Worse, 
it  was  transformed  into  an  emotion  hostile  to  the  one 
who  thus  offended  him  by  rejection  of  the  well-meant 
kindliness  of  his  address. 

"Come,  come!"  he  exclaimed,  testily.  "That's  no 
tone  to  take  with  me." 

"Why?  What  sort  of  tone  do  you  expect  me  to 
take?"  was  the  retort  in  the  listless  voice.  Yet,  now, 
in  the  dullness  ran  a  faint  suggestion  of  something  sin 
ister. 

"I  expected  a  decent  amount  of  humility  from  one  in 
your  position,"  was  the  tart  rejoinder  of  the  magnate. 

Life  quickened  swiftly  in  the  drooping  form  of  the 
girl.  Her  muscles  tensed.  She  stood  suddenly  erect,  in 
the  vigor  of  her  youth  again.  Her  face  lost  in  the  same 
second  its  bleakness  of  pallor.  The  eyes  opened  widely, 
with  startling  abruptness,  and  looked  straight  into  those 
of  the  man  who  had  employed  her. 

"Would  you  be  humble,"  she  demanded,  and  now  her 
voice  was  become  softly  musical,  yet  forbidding,  too, 


62  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

with  a  note  of  passion,  "would  you  be  humble  if  you 
were  going  to  prison  for  three  years — for  something 
you  didn't  do?" 

There  was  anguish  in  the  cry  torn  from  the  girl's 
throat  in  the  sudden  access  of  despair.  The  words 
thrilled  Gilder  beyond  anything  that  he  had  supposed 
possible  in  such  case.  He  found  himself  in  this  emer 
gency  totally  at  a  loss,  and  moved  in  his  chair  doubt 
fully,  wishing  to  say  something,  and  quite  unable.  He 
was  still  seeking  some  question,  some  criticism,  some 
rebuke,  when  he  was  unfeignedly  relieved  to  hear  the 
policeman's  harsh  voice. 

"Don't  mind  her,  sir,"  Cassidy  said.  He  meant  to 
make  his  manner  very  reassuring.  "They  all  say  that. 
They  are  innocent,  of  course!  Yep — they  all  say  it. 
It  don't  do  'em  any  good,  but  just  the  same  they  all 
swear  they're  innocent.  They  keep  it  up  to  the  very 
last,  no  matter  how  right  they've  been  got." 

The  voice  of  the  girl  rang  clear.  There  was  a  note  of 
insistence  that  carried  a  curious  dignity  of  its  own.  The 
very  simplicity  of  her  statement  might  have  had  a  power 
to  convince  one  who  listened  without  prejudice,  although 
the  words  themselves  were  of  the  trite  sort  that  any  pro 
testing  criminal  might  utter. 

"I  tell  you,  I  didn't  do  it!" 

Gilder  himself  felt  the  surge  of  emotion  that  swung 
through  these  moments,  but  he  would  not  yield  to  it. 
With  his  lack  of  imagination,  he  could  not  interpret 
what  this  time  must  mean  to  the  girl  before  him.  Rather, 
he  merely  deemed  it  his  duty  to  carry  through  this  un- 


THE  VICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  63 

fortunate  affair  with  a  scrupulous  attention  to  detail,  in 
the  fashion  that  had  always  been  characteristic  of  him 
during  the  years  in  which  he  had  steadily  mounted  from 
the  bottom  to  the  top. 

'What's  the  use  of  all  this  pretense?"  he  demanded, 
sharply.  "You  were  given  a  fair  trial,  and  there's  an 
end  of  it." 

The  girl,  standing  there  so  feebly,  seeming  indeed  to 
cling  for  support  to  the  man  who  always  held  her  thus 
closely  by  the  wrist,  spoke  again  with  an  astonishing 
clearness,  even  with  a  sort  of  vivacity,  as  if  she  ex 
plained  easily  something  otherwise  in  doubt. 

"Oh,  no,  I  wasn't!"  she  contradicted  bluntly,  with  a 
singular  confidence  of  assertion.  "Why,  if  the  trial 
had  been  fair,  I  shouldn't  be  here." 

The  harsh  voice  of  Cassidy  again  broke  in  on  the 
passion  of  the  girl  with  a  professional  sneer. 

"That's  another  thing  they  all  say." 

But  the  girl  went  on  speaking  fiercely,  impervious  to 
the  man's  coarse  sarcasm,  her  eyes,  which  had  deepened 
almost  to  purple,  still  fixed  piercingly  on  Gilder,  who, 
for  some  reason  wholly  inexplicable  to  him,  felt  him 
self  strangely  disturbed  under  that  regard. 

"Do  you  call  it  fair  when  the  lawyer  I  had  was  only 
a  boy — one  whom  the  court  told  me  to  take,  a  boy  try 
ing  his  first  case — my  case,  that  meant  the  rein  of  my 
life?  My  lawyer!  Why,  he  was  just  getting  experi 
ence — getting  it  at  my  expense  !"  The  girl  paused  as  if 
exhausted  by  the  vehemence  of  her  emotion,  and  at  last 
the  sparkling  eyes  drooped  and  the  heavy  lids  closed 


64  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

over  them.  She  swayed  a  little,  so  that  the  officer  tight 
ened  his  clasp  on  her  wrist. 

There  followed  a  few  seconds  of  silence.  Then  Gil 
der  made  an  effort  to  shake  off  the  feeling  that  had  so 
possessed  him,  and  to  a  certain  degree  he  succeeded. 

"The  jury  found  you  guilty,"  he  asserted,  with  an  at 
tempt  to  make  his  voice  magisterial  in  its  severity. 

Instantly,  Mary  was  aroused  to  a  new  outburst  of 
protest.  Once  again,  her  eyes  shot  their  fires  at  the  man 
seated  behind  the  desk,  and  she  went  forward  a  step 
imperiously,  dragging  the  officer  in  her  wake. 

"Yes,  the  jury  found  me  guilty,"  she  agreed,  with  fine 
scorn  in  the  musical  cadences  of  her  voice,  "Do  you 
know  why?  I  can  tell  you,  Mr.  Gilder.  It  was  be 
cause  they,  had  been  out  for  three  hours  without  reach 
ing  a  decision.  The  evidence  didn't  seem  to  be  quite 
enough  for  some  of  them,  after  all.  Well,  the  judge 
threatened  to  lock  them  up  all  night.  The  men  wanted 
to  get  home.  The  easy  thing  to  do  was  to  find  me  guilty, 
and  let  it  go  at  that.  Was  that  fair,  do  you  think?  And 
that's  not  all,  either.  Was  it  fair  of  you,  Mr.  Gilder? 
Was  it  fair  of  you  to  come  to  the  court  this  morning, 
and  tell  the  judge  that  I  should  be  sent  to  prison  as  a 
warning  to  others?" 

A  quick  flush  burned  on  the  massive  face  of  the  man 
whom  she  thus  accused,  and  his  eyes  refused  to  meet 
her  steady  gaze  of  reproach. 

"You  know !"  he  exclaimed,  in  momentary  consterna 
tion.  Again,  her  mood  had  affected  his  own,  so  that 
through  a  few  hurrying  seconds  he  felt  himself  some- 


THE  VICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  65 

how  guilty  of  wrong  against  this  girl,  so  frank  and  so 
rebuking. 

"I  heard  you  in  the  courtroom,"  she  said.  "The 
dock  isn't  very  far  from  the  bench  where  you  spoke 
to  the  judge  about  my  case.  Yes,  I  heard  you.  It 
wasn't:  Did  I  do  it?  Or,  didn't  I  do  it?  No;  it  was 
only  that  I  must  be  made  a  warning  to  others." 

Again,  silence  fell  for  a  tense  interval.  Then,  finally, 
the  girl  spoke  in  a  different  tone.  Where  before  her 
voice  had  been  vibrant  with  the  instinct  of  complaint 
against  the  mockery  of  justice  under  which  she  suffered, 
now  there  was  a  deeper  note,  that  of  most  solemn  truth. 

"Mr.  Gilder,"  she  said  simply,  "as  God  is  my  judge, 
I  am  going  to  prison  for  three  years  for  something  I 
didn't  do." 

But  the  sincerity  of  her  broken  cry  fell  or\  unheeding 
ears.  The  coarse  nature  of  the  officer  had  long  ago  lost 
whatever  elements  of  softness  there  might  have  been 
to  develop  in  a  gentler  occupation.  As  for  the  owner  of 
the  store,  he  was  not  sufficiently  sensitive  to  feel  the 
verity  in  the  accents  of  the  speaker.  Moreover,  he  was 
a  man  who  followed  the  conventional,  with  never  a  dis 
traction  due  to  imagination  and  sympathy.  Just  now, 
too,  he  was  experiencing  a  keen  irritation  against  him 
self  because  of  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  sensible 
to  the  influence  of  her  protestation,  despite  his  will  to 
the  contrary.  That  irritation  against  himself  only  re 
acted  against  the  girl,  and  caused  him  to  steel  his  heart 
to  resist  any  tendency  toward  commiseration.  So,  this 
declaration  of  innocence  was  made  quite  in  vain — in- 


66  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

deed,  served  rather  to  strengthen  his  disfavor  toward 
the  complainant,  and  to  make  his  manner  harsher  when 
she  voiced  the  pitiful  question  over  which  she  had  won 
dered  and  grieved. 

uWhy  did  you  ask  the  judge  to  send  me  to  prison?" 

"The  thieving  that  has  been  going  on  in  this  store 
for  over  a  year  has  got  to  stop,"  Gilder  answered  em 
phatically,  with  all  his  usual  energy  of  manner  restored. 
As  he  spoke,  he  raised  his  eyes  and  met  the  girl's  glance 
fairly.  Thought  of  the  robberies  was  quite  enough  to 
make  him  pitiless  toward  the  offender. 

"Sending  me  to  prison  won't  stop  it,"  Mary  Turner 
said,  drearily. 

"Perhaps  not,"  Gilder  sternly  retorted.  "But  the  dis 
covery  and  punishment  of  the  other  guilty  ones  will." 
His  manner  changed  to  a  business-like  alertness.  "You 
sent  word  to  me  that  you  could  tell  me  how  to  stop  the 
thefts  in  the  store.  Well,  my  girl,  do  this,  and,  while 
I  can  make  no  definite  promise,  I'll  see  what  can  be 
done  about  getting  you  out  of  your  present  difficulty." 
He  picked  up  a  pencil,  pulled  a  pad  of  blank  paper  con 
venient  to  his  hand,  and  looked  at  the  girl  expectantly, 
with  aggressive  inquiry  in  his  gaze.  "Tell  me  now," 
he  concluded,  "who  were  your  pals?" 

The  matter-of-fact  manner  of  this  man  who  had  un 
wittingly  wronged  her  so  frightfully  was  the  last  straw 
on  the  girl's  burden  of  suffering.  Under  it,  her  patient 
endurance  broke,  and  she  cried  out  in  a  voice  of  utter 
despair  that  caused  Gilder  to  start  nervously,  and  even 
impelled  the  stolid  officer  to  a  frown  of  remonstrance. 


THE  VICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  67 

"I  have  no  pals !"  she  ejaculated,  furiously.  "I  never 
stole  anything  in  my  life.  Must  I  go  on  telling  you 
over  and  over  again?"  Her  voice  rose  in  a  wail  of 
misery.  uOh,  why  won't  any  one  believe  me?'* 

Gilder  was  much  offended  by  this  display  of  an  hys 
terical  grief,  which  seemed  to  his  phlegmatic  tempera 
ment  altogether  unwarranted  by  the  circumstances.  He 
spoke  decisively. 

"Unless  you  can  control  yourself,  you  must  go."  He 
pushed  away  the  pad  of  paper,  and  tossed  the  pencil 
aside  in  physical  expression  of  his  displeasure.  "Why 
did  you  send  that  message,  if  you  have  nothing  to  say?" 
he  demanded,  with  increasing  choler. 

But  now  the  girl  had  regained  her  former  poise.  She 
stood  a  little  drooping  and  shaken,  where  for  a  moment 
she  had  been  erect  and  tensed.  There  was  a  vast  weari 
ness  in  her  words  as  she  answered. 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Gilder,"  she  said, 
quietly.    "Only,  I — I  sort  of  lost  my  grip  on  the  way, 
here,  with  this  man  by  my  side." 

"Most  of  'em  do,  the  first  time,"  the  officer  comment 
ed,  with  a  certain  grim  appreciation. 

"Well?"  Gilder  insisted  querulously,  as  the  girl  hesi 
tated. 

At  once,  Mary  went  on  speaking,  and  now  a  little 
increase  of  vigor  trembled  in  her  tones. 

"When  you  sit  in  a  cell  for  three  months  waiting  for 
your  trial,  as  I  did,  you  think  a  lot.  And,  so,  I  got  the 
idea  that  if  I  could  talk  to  you,  I  might  be  able  to  make 
you  understand  what's  really  wrong.  And  if  I  could 


68  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

do  that,  and  so  help  out  the  other  girls,  what  has  hap 
pened  to  me  would  not,  after  all,  be  quite  so  awful — 
so  useless,  somehow."  Her  voice  lowered  to  a  quick 
pleading,  and  she  bent  toward  the  man  at  the  desk. 

U'Mr.  Gilder,"  she  questioned,  "do  you  really  want  to 
;top  the  girls  from  stealing?" 

"Most  certainly  I  do,"  came  the  forcible  reply. 

The  girl  spoke  with  a  great  earnestness,  deliberately. 

"Then,  give  them  a  fair  chance." 

The  magnate  stared  in  sincere  astonishment  over  this 
absurd,  this  futile  suggestion  for  his  guidance. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  vociferated,  with  rising  in 
dignation.  There  was  an  added  hostility  in  his  de 
meanor,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  thief  of  his  goods 
whom  he  had  brought  to  justice  was  daring  to  trifle 
with  him.  He  grew  wrathful  over  the  suspicion,  but  a 
secret  curiosity  still  held  his  temper  within  bounds. 
"What  do  you  mean?"  he  repeated;  and  now  the  full 
force  of  his  strong  voice  set  the  room  trembling. 

The  tones  of  the  girl  came  softly  musical,  made  more 
delicately  resonant  to  the  ear  by  contrast  with  the  man's 
roaring. 

,      "Why,"  she  said,  very  gently,   "I  mean  just  this: 
/Give  them  a  living  chance  to  be  honest." 

"A  living  chance!"  The  two  words  were  exploded 
with  dynamic  violence.  The  preposterousness  of  the 
advice  fired  Gilder  with  resentment  so  pervasive  that 
through  many  seconds  he  found  himself  unable  to  ex 
press  the  rage  that  flamed  within  him. 

The  girl  showed  herself  undismayed  by  his  anger. 


THE  VICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  69 

"Yes,"  she  went  on,  quietly;  "that's  all  there  is  to  it. 
Give  them  a  living  chance  to  get  enough  food  to  eat, 
and  a  decent  room  to  sleep  in,  and  shoes  that  will  keep 
their  feet  off  the  pavement  winter  mornings.  Do  you 
think  that  any  girl  wants  to  steal?  Do  you  think  that 
m  any  girl  wants  to  risk ?" 

By  this  time,  however,  Gilder  had  regained  his  pow 
ers  of  speech,  and  he  interrupted  stormily. 

"And  is  this  what  you  have  taken  up  my  time  for? 
You  want  to  make  a  maudlin  plea  for  guilty,  dishonest 
girls,  when  I  thought  you  really  meant  to  bring  me 
facts." 

Nevertheless,  Mary  went  on  with  her  arraignment 
uncompromisingly.  There  was  a  strange,  compelling 
energy  in  her  inflections  that  penetrated  even  the  pachy 
dermatous  officer,  so  that,  though  he  thought  her  rav 
ing,  he  let  her  rave  on,  which  was  not  at  all  his  habit 
of  conduct,  and  did  indeed  surprise  him  mightily.  As 
for  Gilder,  he  felt  helpless  in  some  puzzling  fashion 
that  was  totally  foreign  to  his  ordinary  self.  He  was 
still  glowing  with  wrath  over  the  method  by  which  he 
had  been  victimized  into  giving  the  girl  a  hearing.  Yet, 
despite  his  chagrin,  he  realized  that  he  could  not  send 
her  from  him  forthwith.  By  some  inexplicable  spell  she 
bound  him  impotent. 

"We  work  nine  hours  a  day,"  the  quiet  voice  went 
\  on,  a  curious  pathos  in  the  rich  timbre  of  it;  "nine  hours 
a  day,  for  six  days  in  the  week.  That's  a  fact,  isn't  it? 
And  the  trouble  is,  an  honest  girl  can't  live  on  six  dol 
lars  a  week.  She  can't  do  it,  and  buy  food  and  clothes, 


70  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

and  pay  room-rent  and  carfare.  That's  another  fact, 
isn't  it?" 

Mary  regarded  the  owner  of  the  store  with  grave 
questioning  in  her  violet  eyes.  Under  the  urgency  of 
emotion,  color  crept  into  the  pallid  cheeks,  and  now  her 
face  was  very  beautiful — so  beautiful,  indeed,  that  for 
a  little  the  charm  of  its  loveliness  caught  the  man's  gaze, 
and  he  watched  her  with  a  new  respect,  born  of  appre 
ciation  for  her  feminine  delightfulness.  The  impression 
was  far  too  brief.  Gilder  was  not  given  to  esthetic  rap 
tures  over  women.  Always,  the  business  instinct  was 
the  dominant.  So,  after  the  short  period  of  amazed 
admiration  over  such  unexpected  winsomeness,  his 
thoughts  flew  back  angrily  to  the  matters  whereof  she 
spoke  so  ridiculously. 

"I  don't  care  to  discuss  these  things,"  he  declared 
peremptorily,  as  the  girl  remained  silent  for  a  mo 
ment. 

"And  I  have  no  wish  to  discuss  anything,"  Mary  re 
turned  evenly.  "I  only  want  to  give  you  what  you  asked 
for — facts."  A  faint  smile  of  reminiscence  curved  the 
girl's  lips.  "When  they  first  locked  me  up,"  she  ex 
plained,  without  any  particular  evidence  of  emotion,  "I 
used  to  sit  and  hate  you." 

"Oh,  of  course !"  came  the  caustic  exclamation  from 
Gilder. 

"And  then,  I  thought  that  perhaps  you  did  not  under- 
'  stand,"  Mary  continued;  "that,  if  I  were  to  tell  you 
how  things  really  are,  it  might  be  you  would  change 
them  somehow." 


THE  VICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  71 

At  this  ingenuous  statement,  the  owner  of  the  store 
gave  forth  a  gasp  of  sheer  stupefaction. 

"I  I"  he  cried,  incredulously.  "I  change  my  business 
policy  because  you  ask  me  to!" 

There  was  something  imperturbable  in  the  quality  of 
the  voice  as  the  girl  went  resolutely  forward  with  her 
explanation.  It  was  as  if  she  were  discharging  a  duty 
not  to  be  gainsaid,  not  to  be  thwarted  by  any  difficulty, 
not  even  the  realization  that  all  the  effort  must  be  ulti 
mately  in  vain. 

"Do  you  know  how  we  girls  live? — but,  of  course, 
you  don't.  Three  of  us  in  one  room,  doing  our  own 
cooking  over  the  two-burner  gas-stove,  and  our  own 
washing  and  ironing  evenings,  after  being  on  our  feet 

r  nine  hours." 

The  enumeration  of  the  sordid  details  left  the  em 
ployer  absolutely  unmoved,  since  he  lacked  the  imag 
ination  necessary  to  sympathize  actually  with  the  strain 
ing  evil  of  a  life  such  as  the  girl  had  known.  Indeed, 
he  spoke  with  an  air  of  just  remonstrance,  as  if  the 
girl's  charges  were  mischievously  faulty. 

"I   have  provided  chairs  behind  the  counters,"  he 
1  stated. 

There  was  no  especial  change  in  the  girl's  voice  as^ 
she  answered  his  defense.    It  continued  musically  low, 
but  there  was  in  it  the  insistent  note  of  sincerity. 

"But  have  you  ever  seen  a  girl  sitting  in  one  of 
them?"  she  questioned,  coldly.  "Please  answer  me. 
Have  you  ?  Of  course  not,"  she  said,  after  a  little  pause 
during  which  the  owner  had  remained  silent.  She  shook 


72  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

her  head  in  emphatic  negation.  "And  do  you  under 
stand  why?  It's  simply  because  every  girl  knows  that 
the  manager  of  her  department  would  think  he  could 
get  along  without  her,  if  he  were  to  see  her  sitting  down 

loafing,  you  know!  So,  she  would  be  discharged. 

All  it  amounts  to  is  that,  after  being  on  her  feet  for  nine 
hours,  the  girl  usually  walks  home,  in  order  to  save 
carfare.  Yes,  she  walks,  whether  sick  or  well.  Any 
how,  you  are  generally  so  tired,  it  don't  make  much 
difference  which  you  are." 

Gilder  was  fuming  under  these  strictures,  which 
seemed  to  him  altogether  baseless  attacks  on  himself. 
His  exasperation  steadily  waxed  against  the  girl,  a  con 
victed  felon,  who  thus  had  the  audacity  to  beard  him. 

"What  has  all  this  to  do  with  the  question  of  theft 
in  the  store?"  he  rumbled,  huffily.  "That  was  the  ex 
cuse  for  your  coming  here.  And,  instead  of  telling  me 
something,  you  rant  about  gas-stoves  and  carfare." 

The  inexorable  voice  went  on  in  its  monotone,  as  if 
he  had  not  spoken. 

"And,  when  you  are  really  sick,  and  have  to  stop 
work,  what  are  you  going  to  do  then  ?  Do  you  know, 
Mr.  Gilder,  that  the  first  time  a  straight  girl  steals, 
\  •.  it's  often  because  she  had  to  have  a  doctor — or  some 
luxury  like  that?  And  some  of  them  do  worse  than 
steal.  Yes,  they  do — girls  that  started  straight,  and 
wanted  to  stay  that  way.  But,  of  course,  some  of  them 
get  so  tired  of  the  whole  grind  that — that " 

The  man  who  was  the  employer  of  hundreds  concern 
ing  whom  these  grim  truths  were  utteredt  stirred  uneas- 


THE  VICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  73 

ily  in  his  chair,  and  there  came  a  touch  of  color  into  the 
healthy  brown  of  his  cheeks  as  he  spoke  his  protest. 

"I'm  not  their  guardian.  I  can't  watch  over  them 
after  they  leave  the  store.  They  are  paid  the  current 
rate  of  wages — as  much  as  any  other  store  pays."  As 
he  spoke,  the  anger  provoked  by  this  unexpected  assault 
on  him  out  of  the  mouth  of  a  convict  flamed  high  in  vir 
tuous  repudiation.  "Why,"  he  went  on  vehemently, 
"no  man  living  does  more  for  his  employees  than  I 
do.  Who  gave  the  girls  their  fine  rest-rooms  upstairs? 
I  did!  Who  gave  them  the  cheap  lunch-rooms?  I 
did!" 

"But  you  won't  pay  them  enough  to  live  on!"  The 
very  fact  that  the  words  were  spoken  without  any  trace 
of  rancor  merely  made  this  statement  of  indisputable 
truth  obnoxious  to  the  man,  who  was  stung  to  more 
savage  resentment  in  asserting  his  impugned  self- 
righteousness. 

"I  pay  them  the  same  as  the  other  stores  do,"  he  re 
peated,  sullenly. 

Yet  once  again,  the  gently  cadenced  voice  gave  an 
swer,  an  answer  informed  with  that  repulsive  insistence 
to  the  man  who  sought  to  resist  her  indictment  of  him. 

"But  you  won't  pay  them  enough  to  live  on."  The 
simple  lucidity  of  the  charge  forbade  direct  reply. 

Gilder  betook  himself  to  evasion  by  harking  back  to 
the  established  ground  of  complaint. 

"And,  so,  you  claim  that  you  were  forced  to  steal. 
That's  tile  plea  you  make  for  yourself  and  your  friends." 

"I  wasn't  forced  to  steal,"  came  the  answer,  spoken 


74  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

in  the  monotone  that  had  marked  her  utterance  through- 
out  most  of  the  interview.  "I  wasn't  forced  to  steal, 
and  I  didn't  steal.  But,  all  the  same,  that's  the  plea, 
as  you  call  it,  that  I'm  making  for  the  other  girls.  There 
are  hundreds  of  them  who  steal  because  they  don't  get 
enough  to  eat.  I  said  I  would  tell  you  how  to  stop  the 
stealing.  Well,  I  have  done  it.  Give  the  girls  a  fair 
chance  to  be  honest.  You  asked  me  for  the  names, 
Mr.  Gilder.  There's  only  one  name  on  which  to  put 
the  blame  for  the  whole  business — and  that  name  is 
Edward  Gilder!  ,.,  ,.,  .  Now,  won't  you  do  something 
about  it?" 

At  that  naked  question,  the  owner  of  the  store  jumped 
up  from  his  chair,  and  stood  glowering  at  the  girl  who 
risked  a  request  so  full  of  vituperation  against  himself. 

"How  dare  you  speak  to  me  like  this  ?"  he  thundered. 

There  was  no  disconcertion  exhibited  by  the  one  thus 
challenged.  On  the  contrary,  she  repeated  her  question 
with  a  simple  dignity  that  still  further  outraged  the  man. 

"Won't  you,  please,  do  something  about  it?" 

"How  dare  you  ?"  he  shouted  again.  Now,  there  was 
stark  wonder  in  his  eyes  as  he  put  the  question. 

"Why,  I  dared,"  Mary  Turner  explained,  "because 
you  have  done  all  the  harm  you  can  to  me.  And,  now, 
I'm  trying  to  give  you  the  chance  to  do  better  by  the 
others.  You  ask  me  why  I  dare.  I  have  a  right  to 
dare !  I  have  been  straight  all  my  life.  I  have  wanted 
decent  food  and  warm  clothes,  and — a  little  happiness, 
all  the  time  I  have  worked  for  you,  and  I  have  gone 
without  those  things,  just  to  stay  straight.  ..,  ,.,  ,.,  The 


THE  FICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  75 

end  of  it  all  is :  You  are  sending  me  to  prison  for  some 
thing  I  didn't  do.  That's  why  I  darel" 

Cassidy,  the  officer  in  charge  of  Mary  Turner,  had 
stood  patiently  beside  her  all  this  while,  always  holding 
her  by  the  wrist.  He  had  been  mildly  interested  in  the 
verbal  duel  between  the  big  man  of  the  department  store 
and  this  convict  in  his  own  keeping.  Vaguely,  he  had 
marveled  at  the  success  of  the  frail  girl  in  declaiming 
of  her  injuries  before  the  magnate.  He  had  felt  no  par 
ticular  interest  beyond  that,  merely  looking  on  as  one 
might  at  any  entertaining  spectacle.  The  question  at 
issue  was  no  concern  of  his.  His  sole  business  was  to 
take  the  girl  away  when  the  interview  should  be  ended. 
It  occurred  to  him  now  that  this  might,  in  fact,  be  the 
time  to  depart.  It  seemed,  indeed,  that  the  insistent 
reiteration  of  the  girl  had  at  last  left  he  owner  of  the 
store  quite  powerless  to  answer.  It  was  possible,  then, 
that  it  were  wiser  the  girl  should  be  removed.  With 
the  idea  in  mind,  he  stared  inquiringly  at  Gilder  until 
he  caught  that  flustered  gentleman's  eye.  A  nod  from 
the  magnate  sufficed  him.  Gilder,  in  truth,  could  not 
trust  himself  just  then  to  an  audible  command.  He  was 
seriously  disturbed  by  the  gently  spoken  truths  that  had 
issued  from  the  girl's  lips.  He  was  not  prepared  with 
any  answer,  though  he  hotly  resented  every  word  of  her 
accusation.  So,  when  he  caught  the  question  in  the 
glance  of  the  officer,  he  felt  a  guilty  sensation  of  relief 
as  he  signified  an  affirmative  by  his  gesture. 

Cassidy  faced  about,  and  in  his  movement  there  was 
a  tug  at  the  wrist  of  the  girl  that  set  her  moving  toward 


, 


76  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

the  door.      Her  realization  of  what  this    meant  was 
shown  in  her  final  speech. 

Oh,  he  can  take  me  now,"  she  said,  bitterly.  Then 
er  voice  rose  above  the  monotone  that  had  contented 
her  hitherto.  Into  the  music  of  her  tones  beat  some 
thing  sinister,  evilly  vindictive,  as  she  faced  about  at 
the  doorway  to  which  Cassidy  had  led  her.  Her  face, 
as  she  scrutinized  once  again  the  man  at  the  desk,  was 
coldly  malignant. 

"Three  years  isn't  forever,"  she  said,  in  a  level  voice. 
uWhen  I  come  out,  you  are  going  to  pay  for  every  min 
ute  of  them,  Mr.  Gilder.  There  won't  be  a  day  or  an 
hour  that  I  won't  remember  that  at  the  last  it  was  your 
word  sent  me  to  prison.  And  you  are  going  to  pay  me 
for  that.  You  are  going  to  pay  me  for  the  five  years 
I  have  starved  making  money  for  you — that,  too !  You 
are  going  to  pay  me  for  all  the  things  I  am  losing  to 
day,  and " 

The  girl  thrust  forth  her  left  hand,  on  that  side  where 
stood  the  officer.  So  vigorous  was  her  movement  that 
Cassidy's  clasp  was  thrown  off  the  wrist.  But  the  bond 
between  the  two  was  not  broken,  for  from  wrist  to 
wrist  showed  taut  the  steel  chain  of  the  manacles.  The 
girl  shook  the  links  of  the  handcuffs  in  a  gesture  strong 
er  than  words.  In  her  final  utterance  to  the  agitated 
man  at  the  desk,  there  was  a  cold  threat,  a  prophecy  of 
disaster.  From  the  symbol  of  her  degradation,  she 
looked  to  the  man  whose  action  had  placed  it  there. 
In  the  clashing  of  their  glances,  hers  won  the  victory, 
so  that  his  eyes  fell  before  the  menace  in  hers. 


THE  FICTIM  OF  THE  LAW  77 

"You  are  going  to  pay  me  for  this !"  she  said.  Her 
voice  was  little  more  than  a  whisper,  but  it  was  loud  in 
the  listener's  heart.  "Yes,  you  are  going  to  pay — for 
this!" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

INFERNO. 

They  were  grim  years,  those  three  during  which  Mary 
Turner  served  her  sentence  in  Burnsing.  There  was  no 
time  off  for  good  behavior.  The  girl  learned  soon  that 
the  favor  of  those  set  in  authority  over  her  could  only 
be  won  at  a  cost  against  which  her  every  maidenly  in 
stinct  revolted.  So,  she  went  through  the  inferno  of 
days  and  nights  in  a  dreariness  of  suffering  that  was 
deadly.  Naturally,  the  life  there  was  altogether  an  evil 
thing.  There  was  the  material  ill  ever  present  in  the 
round  of  wearisome  physical  toil,  the  coarse,  distaste 
ful  food,  the  hard,  narrow  couch,  the  constant,  gnawing 
irksomeness  of  imprisonment,  away  from  light  and  air, 
away  from  all  that  makes  life  worth  while. 

Yet,  these  afflictions  were  not  the  worst  injuries  to 
mar  the  girl  convict's  life.  That  which  bore  upon  her 
most  weightily  and  incessantly  was  the  degradation  of 
this  environment  from  which  there  was  never  any  re 
spite,  the  viciousness  of  this  spot  wherein  she  had  been 
cast  through  no  fault  of  her  own.  Vileness  was  every 
where,  visibly  in  the  faces  of  many,  and  it  was  brimming 
from  the  souls  of  more,  subtly  hideous.  The  girl  held 
herself  rigidly  from  any  personal  intimacy  with  her  fel 
lows.  To  some  extent,  at  least,  she  could  separate  her- 

78 


INFERNO  79 

self  from  their  corruption  in  the  matter  of  personal 
association.  But,  ever  present,  there  was  a  secret  en 
ergy  of  vice  that  could  not  be  escaped  so  simply — nor, 
indeed,  by  any  device;  that  breathed  in  the  spiritual 
atmosphere  itself  of  the  place.  Always,  this  mysterious, 
invisible,  yet  horribly  potent,  power  of  sin  was  .like  a 
miasma  throughout  the  prison.  Always,  it  was  striving 
to  reach  her  soul,  to  make  her  of  its  own.  She  fought 
the  insidious,  fetid  force  as  best  she  might.  She  was 
not  evil  by  nature.  She  had  been  well  grounded  in  prin 
ciples  of  righteousness.  Nevertheless,  though  she  main 
tained  the  integrity  of  her  character,  that  character  suf 
fered  from  the  taint.  There  developed  over  the  girl's 
original  sensibility  a  shell  of  hardness,  which  in  time 
would  surely  come  to  make  her  less  scrupulous  in  her 
reckoning  of  right  and  wrong. 

Yet,  as  a  rule,  character  remains  the  same  throughout 
life  as  to  its  prime  essentials,  and,  in  this  case,  Mary 
Turner  at  the  end  of  her  term  was  vitally  almost  as 
wholesome  as  on  the  day  when  she  began  the  serving 
of  the  sentence.  The  change  wrought  in  her  was  chiefly 
of  an  external  sort.  The  kindliness  of  her  heart  and  her 
desire  for  the  seemly  joys  of  life  were  unweakened.  But 
over  the  better  qualities  of  her  nature  was  now  spread  a 
crust  of  worldly  hardness,  a  denial  of  appeal  to  her  sens 
ibilities.  It  was  this  that  would  eventually  bring  her  per 
ilously  close  to  contented  companioning  with  crime. 

The  best  evidence  of  the  fact  that  Mary  Turner's  soul 
was  not  fatally  soiled  must  be  found  in  the  fact  that 
still,  at  the  expiration  of  her  sentence,  she  was  fully  re- 


8o  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

solved  to  live  straight,  as  the  saying  is  which  she  had 
quoted  to  Gilder.  This,  too,  in  the  face  of  sure  knowl 
edge  as  to  the  difficulties  that  would  beset  the  effort, 
and  in  the  face  of  the  temptations  offered  to  follow 
an  easier  path. 

There  was,  for  example,  Aggie  Lynch,  a  fellow  con 
vict,  with  whom  she  had  a  slight  degree  of  acquaint 
ance,  nothing  more.  This  young  woman,  a  criminal  by 
training,  offered  allurements  of  illegitimate  employ 
ment  in  the  outer  world  when  they  should  be  free.  Mary 
endured  the  companionship  with  this  prisoner  because 
a  sixth  sense  proclaimed  the  fact  that  here  was  one  un 
moral,  rather  than  immoral — and  the  difference  is 
mighty.  For  that  reason,  Aggie  Lynch  was  not  actively 
offensive,  as  were  most  of  the  others.  She  was  a  dainty 
little  blonde,  with  a  baby  face,  in  which  were  set  two 
light-blue  eyes,  of  a  sort  to  widen  often  in  demure  won 
der  over  most  things  in  a  surprising  and  naughty  world. 
She  had  been  convicted  of  blackmail,  and  she  made  no 
pretense  even  of  innocence.  Instead,  she  was  inclined 
to  boast  over  her  ability  to  bamboozle  men  at  her  will. 
She  was  a  natural  actress  of  the  ingenue  role,  and  in 
that  pose  she  could  unfailingly  beguile  the  heart  of  the 
wisest  of  worldly  men. 

Perhaps,  the  very  keen  student  of  physiognomy  might 
have  discovered  grounds  for  suspecting  her  demure- 
ness  by  reason  of  the  thick,  level  brows  that  cast  a 
shadow  on  the  bland  innocence  of  her  face.  For  the 
rest,  she  possessed  a  knack  of  rather  harmless  pervers 
ity,  a  fair  smattering  of  grammar  and  spelling,  and  a 


INFERNO  8 1 

lively  sense  of  humor  within  her  own  limitations,  with 
a  particularly  small  intelligence  in  other  directions.  Her 
one  art  was  histripnics  of  the  kind  that  made  an  indi 
vidual  appeal.  In  such,  she  was  inimitable.  She  had 
been  reared  in  a  criminal  family,  which  must  excuse 
much.  Long  ago,  she  had  lost  track  of  her  father;  her 
mother  she  had  never  known.  Her  one  relation  was  a 
brother  of  high  standing  as  a  pickpocket.  One  principal 
reason  of  her  success  in  leading  on  men  to  make  fools 
of  themselves  over  her,  to  their  everlasting  regret  after 
ward,  lay  in  the  fact  that,  in  spite  of  all  the  gross  irregu 
larities  of  her  life,  she  remained  chaste.  She  deserved 
no  credit  for  such  restraint,  since  it  was  a  matter  purely 
of  temperament,  not  of  resolve. 

The  girl  saw  in  Mary  Turner  the  possibilities  of  a 
ladylike  personality  that  might  mean  much  financial 
profit  in  the  devious  ways  of  which  she  was  a  mistress. 
With  the  frankness  characteristic  of  her,  she  proceeded 
to  paint  glowing  pictures  of  a  future  shared  to  the  un 
doing  of  ardent  and  fatuous  swains.  Mary  Turner 
listened  with  curiosity,  but  she  was  in  no  wise  moved 
to  follow  such  a  life,  even  though  it  did  not  necessitate 
anything  worse  than  a  fraudulent  playing  at  love,  with 
out  physical  degradation.  So,  she  steadfastly  continued 
her  refusals,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  Aggie,  who 
actually  could  not  understand  in  the  least,  even  while 
she  believed  the  other's  declaration  of  innocence  of  the 
crime  for  which  she  was  serving  a  sentence.  But,  for 
her  own  part,  such  innocence  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  matter.  Where,  indeed,  could  be  the  harm  in  mak* 


82  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

ing  some  old  sinner  pay  a  round  price  for  his  folly? 
And  always,  in  response  to  every  argument,  Mary  shook 
her  head  in  negation.  She  would  live  straight. 

Then,  the  heavy  brows  of  Aggie  would  draw  down 
a  little,  and  the  baby  face  would  harden. 

"You  will  find  that  you  are  up  against  a  hell  of  a 
frost,"  she  would  declare,  brutally. 

Mary  found  the  profane  prophecy  true.  Back  in  New 
York,  she  experienced  a  poverty  more  ravaging  than 
any  she  had  known  in  those  five  lean  years  of  her  work 
ing  in  the  store.  She  had  been  absolutely  penniless  for 
two  days,  and  without  food  through  the  gnawing  hours, 
when  she  at  last  found  employment  of  the  humblest  in 
a  milliner's  shop.  Followed  a  blessed  interval  in  which 
she  worked  contentedly,  happy  over  the  meager  stipend, 
since  it  served  to  give  her  shelter  and  food  honestly 
earned. 

But  the  ways  of  the  police  are  not  always  those  of 
ordinary  decency.  In  due  time,  an  officer  informed 
Mary's  employer  concerning  the  fact  of  her  record 
as  a  convict,  and  thereupon  she  was  at  once  discharged.. 
The  unfortunate  victim  of  the  law  came  perilously  close 
to  despair  then.  Yet,  her  spirit  triumphed,  and  again 
she  persevered  in  that  resolve  to  live  straight.  Finally, 
for  the  second  time,  she  secured  a  cheap  position  in  a 
cheap  shop — only  to  be  again  persecuted  by  the  police, 
so  that  she  speedily  lost  the  place. 

Nevertheless,  indomitable  in  her  purpose,  she  main 
tained  the  struggle.  A  third  time  she  obtained  work, 
and  there,  after  a  little,  she  told  her  employer,  a  candy 


INFERNO  83 

manufacturer  in  a  small  way,  the  truth  as  to  her  having 
been  in  prison.  The  man  had  a  kindly  heart,  and,  in 
addition,  he  ran  little  risk  in  the  matter,  so  he  allowed 
her  to  remain.  When,  presently,  the  police  called  his 
attention  to  the  girl's  criminal  record,  he  paid  no  heed 
to  their  advice  against  retaining  her  services.  But  such 
action  on  his  part  offended  the  greatness  of  the  law's 
dignity.  The  police  brought  pressure  to  bear  on  the 
man.  They  even  called  in  the  assistance  of  Edward  Gil 
der  himself,  who  obligingly  wrote  a  very  severe  letter 
to  the  girl's  employer.  In  the  end,  such  tactics  alarmed 
the  man.  For  the  sake  of  his  own  interests,  though  un 
willingly  enough,  he  dismissed  Mary  from  his  service. 

It  was  then  that  despair  did  come  upon  the  girl.  She 
had  tried  with  all  the  strength  of  her  to  live  straight. 
Yet,  despite  her  innocence,  the  world  would  not  let  her 
live  according  to  her  own  conscience.  It  demanded  that 
she  be  the  criminal  it  had  branded  her — if  she  were  to 
live  at  all.  So,  it  was  despair !  For  she  would  not  turn 
to  evil,  and  without  such  turning  she  could  not  live.  She 
still  walked  the  streets  falteringly,  seeking  some  place; 
but  her  heart  was  gone  from  the  quest.  Now,  she  was 
sunken  in  an  apathy  that  saved  her  from  the  worst  pangs 
of  misery.  She  had  suffered  so  much,  so  poignantly, 
that  at  last  her  emotions  had  grown  sluggish.  She  did 
not  mind  much  even  when  her  tiny  hoard  of  money  was 
quite  gone,  and  she  roamed  the  city,  starving.  .  ... 
Came  an  hour  when  she  thought  of  the  river,  and  was 
glad! 

Mary  remembered,  with  a  wan  smile,  how,  long  ago, 


84  WITHIN  THE  LAW. 

she  had  thought  with  amazed  horror  of  suicide,  unable 
to  imagine  any  trouble  sufficient  to  drive  one  to  death  as 
the  only  relief.  Now,  however,  the  thing  was  simple 
to  her.  Since  there  was  nothing  else,  she  must  turn  to 
that — to  death.  Indeed,  it  was  so  very  simple,  so  final, 
and  so  easy,  after  the  agonies  she  had  endured,  that  she 
marveled  over  her  own  folly  in  not  having  sought  such 
escape  before.  .  .  .  Even  with  the  first  wild  fancy,  she 
had  unconsciously  bent  her  steps  westward  toward  the 
North  River.  Now,  she  quickened  her  pace,  anxious 
for  the  plunge  that  should  set  the  term  to  sorrow.  In 
her  numbed  brain  was  no  flicker  of  thought  as  to  what 
ever  might  come  to  her  afterward.  Her  sole  guide  was 
that  compelling  passion  of  desire  to  be  done  with  this 
unbearable  present.  Nothing  else  mattered — not  in  the 
least  1 

So,  she  came  through  the  long  stretch  of  ill-lighted 
streets,  crossed  some  railroad  tracks  to  a  pier,  over 
which  she  hurried  to  the  far  end,  where  it  projected  out 
to  the  fiercer  currents  of  the  Hudson.  There,  without 
giving  herself  a  moment's  pause  for  reflection  or  hesi 
tation,  she  leaped  out  as  far  as  her  strength  permitted 
into  the  coil  of  waters.  .  .  .  But,  in  that  final  second, 
natural  terror  in  the  face  of  death  overcame  the  leth 
argy  of  despair — a  shriek  burst  from  her  lips. 

But  for  that  scream  of  fear,  the  story  of  Mary  Tur 
ner  had  ended  there  and  then.  Only  one  person  was 
anywhere  near  to  catch  the  sound.  And  that  single 
person  heard.  On  the  south  side  of  the  pier  a  man 
had  just  tied  up  a  motor-boat.  He  stood  up  in  alarm 


INFERNO  85, 

at  the  cry,  and  was  just  in  time  to  gain  a  glimpse  of  a 
white  face  under  the  dim  moonlight  as  it  swept  down 
with  the  tide,  two  rods  beyond  him.  On  the  instant,  he 
threw  off  his  coat  and  sprang  far  out  after  the  drifting 
body.  He  came  to  it  in  a  few  furious  strokes,  caught  it. 
Then  began  the  savage  struggle  to  save  her  and  him 
self.  The  currents  tore  at  him  wrathfully,  but  he  fought 
against  them  with  all  the  fierceness  of  his  nature.  He 
had  strength  a-plenty,  but  it  needed  all  of  it,  and  more, 
to  win  out  of  the  river's  hungry  clutch.  What  saved 
the  two  of  them  was  the  violent  temper  of  the  man. 
Always,  it  had  been  the  demon  to  set  him  aflame.  To 
night,  there  in  the  faint  light,  within  the  grip  of  the 
waters,  he  was  moved  to  insensate  fury  against  the  ele 
ment  that  menaced.  His  rage  mounted,  and  gave  him 
new  power  in  the  battle.  Maniacal  strength  grew  out 
of  supreme  wrath.  Under  the  urge  of  it,  he  conquered — 
at  last  brought  himself  and  his  charge  to  the  shore. 

When,  finally,  the  rescuer  was  able  to  do  something 
more  than  gasp  chokingly,  he  gave  anxious  attention  to 
the  woman  whom  he  had  brought  out  from  the  river. 
Yet,  at  the  outset,  he  could  not  be  sure  that  she  still 
lived.  She  had  shown  no  sign  of  life  at  any  time  since 
he  had  first  seized  her.  That  fact  had  been  of  incal 
culable  advantage  to  him  in  his  efforts  to  reach  the  shore 
with  her.  Now,  however,  it  alarmed  him  mightily, 
though  it  hardly  seemed  possible  that  she  could  have 
drowned.  So  far  as  he  could  determine,  she  had  not 
even  sunk  once  beneath  the  surface.  Nevertheless,  she 
displayed  no  evidence  of  vitality,  though  he  chafed  her 


U  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

hands  for  a  long  time.  The  shore  here  was  very  lonely; 
it  would  take  precious  time  to  summon  aid.  It  seemed, 
notwithstanding,  that  this  must  be  the  only  course.  Then 
just  as  the  man  was  about  to  leave  her,  the  girl  sighed, 
very  faintly,  with  an  infinite  weariness,  and  opened  her 
eyes.  The  man  echoed  the  sigh,  but  his  was  of  joy, 
since  now  he  knew  that  his  strife  in  the  girl's  behalf  had 
not  been  in  vain. 

Afterward,  the  rescuer  experienced  no  great  difficulty 
in  carrying  out  his  work  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion. 
Mary  revived  to  clear  consciousness,  which  was  at  first 
inclined  toward  hysteria,  but  this  phase  yielded  soon 
under  the  sympathetic  ministrations  of  the  man.  His 
rather  low  voice  was  soothing  to  her  tired  soul,  and  his 
whole  air  was  at  once  masterful  and  gently  tender. 
Moreover,  there  was  an  inexpressible  balm  to  her  spirit 
in  the  very  fact  that  some  one  was  thus  ministering  to 
her.  It  was  the  first  time  for  many  dreadful  years  that 
any  one  had  taken  thought  for  her  welfare.  The  effect 
of  it  was  like  a  draught  of  rarest  wine  to  warm  her 
heart.  So,  she  rested  obediently  as  he  busied  himself 
with  her  complete  restoration,  and,  when  finally  she  was 
able  to  stand,  and  to  walk  with  the  support  of  his  arm, 
she  went  forward  slowly  at  his  side  without  so  much 
even  as  a  question  of  whither. 

And,  curiously,  the  man  himself  shared  the  gladness 
that  touched  the  mood  of  the  girl,  for  he  experienced  a 
sudden  pride  in  his  accomplishment  of  the  night,  a  pride 
that  delighted  a  starved  part  of  his  nature.  Somewhere 
in  him  were  the  seeds  of  self-sacrifice,  the  seeds  of  a 


INFERNO  87 

generous  devotion  to  others.  But  those  seeds  had  been 
left  undeveloped  in  a  life  that  had  been  lived  since  early 
boyhood  outside  the  pale  of  respectability.  To-night, 
Joe  Garson  had  performed,  perhaps,  his  first  action 
with  no  thought  of  self  at  the  back  of  it.  He  had 
risked  his  life  to  save  that  of  a  stranger.  The  fact 
astonished  him,  while  it  pleased  him  hugely.  The  sen 
sation  was  at  once  novel  and  thrilling.  Since  it  was  so 
agreeable,  he  meant  to  prolong  the  glow  of  self-satis 
faction  by  continuing  to  care  for  this  waif  of  the  river. 
He  must  make  his  rescue  complete.  It  did  not  occur 
to  him  to  question  his  fitness  for  the  work.  His  intro 
spection  did  not  reach  to  a  point  of  suspecting  that  he, 
an  habitual  criminal,  was  necessarily  of  a  sort  to  be  most 
objectionable  as  the  protector  of  a  young  girl.  Indeed, 
had  any  one  suggested  the  thought  to  him,  he  would 
have  met  it  with  a  sneer,  to  the  effect  that  a  wretch 
thus  tired  of  life  could  hardly  object  to  any  one  who 
constituted  himself  her  savior. 

In  this  manner,  Joe  Garson,  the  notorious  forger,  led 
the  dripping  girl  eastward  through  the  squalid  streets, 
until  at  last  they  came  to  an  adequately  lighted  avenue, 
and  there  a  taxicab  was  found.  It  carried  them  farther 
north,  and  to  the  east  still,  until  at  last  it  came  to  a  halt 
before  an  apartment  house  that  was  rather  imposing, 
set  in  a  street  of  humbler  dwellings.  Here,  Garson 
paid  the  fare,  and  then  helped  the  girl  to  alight,  and 
on  into  the  hallway.  Mary  went  with  him  quite  un 
afraid,  though  now  with  a  growing  curiosity.  Strange 
as  it  all  was,  she  felt  that  she  could  trust  this  man  who 


88  WITHIN  THE 

had  plucked  her  from  death,  who  had  worked  over  her 
with  so  much  of  tender  kindliness.  So,  she  waited  pa 
tiently;  only,  watched  with  intentness  as  he  pressed  the 
button  of  a  flat  number.  She  observed  with  interest 
the  thick,  wavy  gray  of  his  hair,  which  contradicted 
pleasantly  the  youthfulness  of  his  clean-shaven,  resolute 
face,  and  the  spare,  yet  well-muscled  form. 

The  clicking  of  the  door-latch  sounded  soon,  and  the 
two  entered,  and  went  slowly  up  three  flights  of  stairs. 
On  the  landing  beyond  the  third  flight,  the  door  of  a 
rear  flat  stood  open,  and  in  the  doorway  appeared  the 
figure  of  a  woman. 

"Well,  Joe,  who's  the  skirt?"  this  person  demanded, 
as  the  man  and  his  charge  halted  before  her.  Then, 
abruptly,  the  round,  baby-like  face  of  the  woman  puck 
ered  in  amazement.  Her  voice  rose  shrill.  "My  Gawd, 
if  it  ain't  Mary  Turner!" 

At  that,  the  newcomer's  eyes  opened  swiftly  to  their 
widest,  and  she  stared  astounded  in  her  turn. 

"Aggie!"  she  cried. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WITHIN  THE  LAW. 

In  the  time  that  followed,  Mary  lived  in  the  flat 
which  Aggie  Lynch  occupied  along  with  her  brother, 
Jim,  a  pickpocket  much  esteemed  among  his  fellow 
craftsmen.  The  period  wrought  transformations  of  a 
radical  and  bewildering  sort  in  both  the  appearance  and 
the  character  of  the  girl.  Joe  Garson,  the  forger,  had 
long  been  acquainted  with  Aggie  and  her  brother, 
though  he  considered  them  far  beneath  him  in  the  social 
scale,  since  their  criminal  work  was  not  of  that  high 
kind  on  which  he  prided  himself.  But,  as  he  cast  about 
for  some  woman  to  whom  he  might  take  the  hapless 
girl  he  had  rescued,  his  thoughts  fell  on  Aggie,  and 
forthwith  his  determination  was  made,  since  he  knew 
that  she  was  respectable,  viewed  according  to  his  own 
peculiar  lights.  He  was  relieved  rather  than  otherwise 
to  learn  that  there  was  already  an  acquaintance  between 
the  two  women,  and  the  fact  that  his  charge  had  served 
time  in  prison  did  not  influence  him  one  jot  against  her. 
On  the  contrary,  it  increased  in  some  measure  his  respect 
for  her  as  one  of  his  own  kind.  By  the  time  he  had 
learned  as  well  of  her  innocence,  he  had  grown  so  inter 
ested  that  even  her  folly,  as  he  was  inclined  to  deem  it, 
did  not  cause  any  wavering  in  his  regard. 


5o  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Now,  at  last,  Mary  Turner  let  herself  drift.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  she  had  abandoned  herself  to  fate 
in  that  hour  when  she  threw  herself  into  the  river. 
Afterward,  without  any  volition  on  her  part,  she  had 
been  restored  to  life,  and  set  within  an  environment 
new  and  strange  to  her,  in  which  soon,  to  her  surprise, 
she  discovered  a  vivid  pleasure.  -  So,  she  fought  no 
more,  but  left  destiny  to  work  its  will  unhampered  by 
her  futile  strivings.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life, 
thanks  to  the  hospitality  of  Aggie  Lynch,  secretly  re 
inforced  from  the  funds  of  Joe  Garson,  Mary  found 
herself  living  in  luxurious  idleness,  while  her  every  wish 
could  be  gratified  by  the  merest  mention  of  it.  She 
was  fed  on  the  daintiest  of  fare,  for  Aggie  was  a  sybar 
ite  in  all  sensuous  pleasures  that  were  apart  from  sex. 
She  was  clothed  with  the  most  delicate  richness  for  the 
first  time  as  to  those  more  mysterious  garments  which 
women  love,  and  she  soon  had  a  variety  of  frocks  as 
charming  as  her  graceful  form  demanded.  In  addition, 
there  were  as  many  of  books  and  magazines  as  she 
could  wish.  Her  mind,  long  starved  like  her  body, 
seized  avidly  on  the  nourishment  thus  afforded.  In 
this  interest,  Aggie  had  no  share — was  perhaps  a  little 
envious  over  Mary's  absorption  in  printed  pages.  But 
for  her  consolation  were  the  matters  of  food  and  dress, 
and  of  countless  junketings.  In  such  directions,  Aggie 
was  the  leader,  an  eager,  joyous  one  always.  She  took 
a  vast  pride  in  her  guest,  with  the  unmistakable  air  of 
elegance,  and  she  dared  to  dream  of  great  triumphs  to 


WITHIN  THE  LAW  9* 

come,  though  as  yet  she  carefully  avoided  any  sugges 
tion  to  Mary  of  wrong-doing. 

In  the  end,  the  suggestion  came  from  Mary  Turner 
herself,  to  the  great  surprise  of  Aggie,  and,  truth  to 
tell,  of  herself. 

There  were  two  factors  that  chiefly  influenced  her  de 
cision.  The  first  was  due  to  the  feeling  that,  since  the 
world  had  rejected  her,  she  need  no  longer  concern  her 
self  with  the  world's  opinion,  or  retain  any  scruples  over 
it.  Back  of  this  lay  her  bitter  sentiment  toward  the 
man  who  had  been  the  direct  cause  of  her  imprison 
ment,  Edward  Gilder.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the  gen 
eral  warfare  against  the  world  might  well  be  made  an 
initial  step  in  the  warfare  she  meant  to  wage,  some 
how,  some  time,  against  that  man  personally,  in  accord 
ance  with  the  hysterical  threat  she  had  uttered  to  his 
face. 

The  factor  that  was  the  immediate  cause  of  her  de 
cision  on  an  irregular  mode  of  life  was  an  editorial  in 
one  of  the  daily  newspapers.  This  was  a  scathing  ar 
raignment  of  a  master  in  high  finance.  The  point  of 
the  writer's  attack  was  the  grim  sarcasm  for  such  meth 
ods  of  thievery  as  are  kept  within  the  law.  That  phrase 
held  the  girl's  fancy,  and  she  read  the  article  again 
with  a  quickened  interest.  Then,  she  began  to  medi 
tate.  She  herself  was  in  a  curious,  indeterminate  atti 
tude  as  far  as  concerned  the  law.  It  was  the  law  that 
had  worked  the  ruin  of  her  life,  which  she  had  striven 
to  make  wholesome.  In  consequence,  she  felt  for  the 
law  no  genuine  respect,  only  detestation  as  for  the  epi- 


92  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

tome  of  injustice.  Yet,  she  gave  it  a  superficial  respect, 
born  of  those  three  years  of  suffering  which  had  been 
the  result  of  the  penalty  inflicted  on  her.  It  was  as  an 
effect  of  this  latter  feeling  that  she  was  determined  on 
one  thing  of  vital  importance :  that  never  would  she  be 
guilty  of  anything  to  pit  her  against  the  law's  decrees. 
She  had  known  too  many  hours  of  anguish  in  the  doom 
set  on  her  life  because  she  had  been  deemed  a  violator 
of  the  law.  No,  never  would  she  let  herself  take  any 
position  in  which  the  law  could  accuse  her.  .  .  .  But 
there  remained  the  fact  that  the  actual  cause  of  her 
long  misery  was  this  same  law,  manipulated  by  the  man 
she  hated.  It  had  punished  her,  though  she  had  been 
without  fault.  For  that  reason,  she  must  always  regard 
it  as  her  enemy,  must,  indeed,  hate  it  with  an  intensity 
beyond  words — with  an  intensity  equal  to  that  she  bore 
the  man,  Gilder.  Now,  in  the  paragraph  she  had  just 
read  she  found  a  clue  to  suggestive  thought,  a  hint  as 
to  a  means  by  which  she  might  satisfy  her  rancor  against 
the  law  that  had  outraged  her — and  this  in  safety  since 
she  would  attempt  nought  save  that  within  the  law. 

Mary's  heart  leaped  at  the  possibility  back  of  those 
three  words,  "within  the  law."  She  might  do  anything, 
seek  any  revenge,  work  any  evil,  enjoy  any  mastery,  as 
long  as  she  should  keep  within  the  law.  There  could 
be  no  punishment  then.  That  was  the  lesson  taught  by 
the  captain  in  high  finance.  He  was  at  pains  always  in 
his  stupendous  robberies  to  keep  within  the  law.  To 
that  end,  he  employed  lawyers  of  mighty  cunning  and 
learning  to  guide  his  steps  aright  in  such  tortuous  paths. 


WITHIN  THE  LAW  93 

There,  then,  was  the  secret.  Why  should  she  not 
use  the  like  means?  Why,  indeed?  She  had  brains 
enough  to  devise,  surely.  Beyond  that,  she  needed  only 
to  keep  her  course  most  carefully  within  those  limits  of 
wrong-doing  permitted  by  the  statutes.  For  that,  the 
sole  requirement  would  be  a  lawyer  equally  unscrupulous 
and  astute.  At  once,  Mary's  mind  was  made  up.  After 
all,  the  thing  was  absurdly  simple.  It  was  merely  a 
matter  for  ingenuity  and  for  prudence  in  alliance.  .  .  . 
Moreover,  there  would  come  eventually  some  adequate 
device  against  her  arch-enemy,  Edward  Gilder. 

Mary  meditated  on  the  idea  for  many  days,  and  ever 
it  seemed  increasingly  good  to  her.  Finally,  it  devel 
oped  to  a  point  where  she  believed  it  altogether  feasible, 
and  then  she  took  Joe  Garson  into  her  confidence.  He 
was  vastly  astonished  at  the  outset  and  not  quite  pleased, 
To  his  view,  this  plan  offered  merely  a  fashion  of  set 
ting  difficulties  in  the  way  of  achievement.  Presently, 
however,  the  sincerity  and  persistence  of  the  girl  won 
him  over.  The  task  of  convincing  him  would  have  been 
easier  had  he  himself  ever  known  the  torment  of  serv 
ing  a  term  in  prison.  Thus  far,  however,  the  forger 
had  always  escaped  the  penalty  for  his  crimes,  though 
often  close  to  conviction.  But  Mary's  arguments  were 
of  a  compelling  sort  as  she  set  them  forth  in  detail,  and 
they  made  their  appeal  to  Garson,  who  was  by  no  means 
lacking  in  a  shrewd  native  intelligence.  He  agreed 
that  the  experiment  should  be  made,  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  he  felt  no  particular  enthusiasm  over  the 
proposed  scheme  of  working.  It  is  likely  that  his  own 


94  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

strong  feeling  of  attraction  toward  the  girl  whom  he 
had  saved  from  death,  who  now  appeared  before  him 
as  a  radiantly  beautiful  young  woman,  was  more  per 
suasive  than  the  excellent  ideas  which  she  presented  so 
emphatically,  and  with  a  logic  so  impressive. 

An  agreement  was  made  by  which  Joe  Garson  and 
certain  of  his  more  trusted  intimates  in  the  underworld 
were  to  put  themselves  under  the  orders  of  Mary  con 
cerning  the  sphere  of  their  activities.  Furthermore, 
they  bound  themselves  not  to  engage  in  any  devious 
business  without  her  consent.  Aggie,  too,  was  one  of 
the  company  thus  constituted,  but  she  figured  little  in 
the  preliminary  discussions,  since  neither  Mary  nor  the 
forger  had  much  respect  for  the  intellectual  capabilities 
of  the  adventuress,  though  they  appreciated  to  the  full 
her  remarkable  powers  of  influencing  men  to  her  will. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find  a  lawyer  suited  to  the  neces 
sities  of  the  undertaking.  Mary  bore  in  mind  constantly 
the  high  financier's  reliance  on  the  legal  adviser  compe 
tent  to  invent  a  method  whereby  to  baffle  the  law  at  any 
desired  point,  and  after  judicious  investigation  she  se 
lected  an  ambitious  and  experienced  Jew  named  Sigis- 
mund  Harris,  just  in  the  prime  of  his  mental  vigors, 
who  possessed  a  knowledge  of  the  law  only  to  be 
equalled  by  his  disrespect  for  it.  He  seemed,  indeed, 
precisely  the  man  to  fit  the  situation  for  one  desirous 
of  outraging  the  law  remorselessly,  while  still  retaining 
a  place  absolutely  within  it. 

Forthwith,  the  scheme  was  set  in  operation.  As  a 
first  step,  Mary  Turner  became  a  young  lady  of  inde* 


WITHIN  THE  LAW  <?5 

pendent  fortune,  who  had  living  with  her  a  cousin,  }v£iss 
Agnes  Lynch.  The  flat  was  abandoned.  In  its  stead 
was  an  apartment  in  the  nineties  on  Riverside  Drive,  in 
which  the  ladies  lived  alone  with  two  maids  to  serve 
them.  Garson  had  rooms  in  the  neighborhood,  but 
Jim  Lynch,  who  persistently  refused  the  conditions  of 
such  an  alliance,  betook  himself  afar,  to  continue  his 
reckless  gathering  of  other  folk's  money  in  such  wise 
as  to  make  him  amenable  to  the  law  the  very  first  time 
he  should  be  caught  at  it. 

A  few  tentative  ventures  resulted  in  profits  so  large 
that  the  company  grew  mightily  enthusiastic  over  the 
novel  manner  of  working.  In  each  instance,  Harris  was 
consulted,  and  made  his  confidential  statement  as  to  the 
legality  of  the  thing  proposed.  Mary  gratified  her 
eager  mind  by  careful  studies  in  this  chosen  line  of  ne- 
fariousness.  After  a  few  perfectly  legal  breach-of- 
promise  suits,  due  to  Aggie's  winsome  innocence  of 
demeanor,  had  been  settled  advantageously  out  of  court, 
Mary  devised  a  scheme  of  greater  elaborateness,  with 
the  legal  acumen  of  the  lawyer  to  endorse  it  in  the  mat 
ter  of  safety. 

This  netted  thirty  thousand  dollars.  It  was  planned 
as  the  swindling  of  a  swindler — which,  in  fact,  had  now 
become  the  secret  principle  in  Mary's  morality. 

A  gentleman  possessed  of  some  means,  none  too 
scrupulous  himself,  but  with  high  financial  aspirations, 
advertised  for  a  partner  to  invest  capital  in  a  business 
sure  to  bring  large  returns.  This  advertisement  caught 
the  eye  of  Mary  Turner,  and  she  answered  it.  An  in- 


96  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

troductory  correspondence  encouraged  her  to  hope  for 
the  victory  in  a  game  of  cunning  against  cunning.  She 
consulted  with  the  perspicacious  Mr.  Harris,  and  espe 
cially  sought  from  him  detailed  information  as  to  part 
nership  law.  His  statements  gave  her  such  confidence 
that  presently  she  entered  into  a  partnership  with  the 
advertiser.  By  the  terms  of  their  agreement,  each  de 
posited  thirty  thousand  dollars  to  the  partnership  ac 
count.  This  sum  of  sixty  thousand  dollars  was  ostens 
ibly  to  be  devoted  to  the  purchase  of  a  tract  of  land, 
which  should  afterward  be  divided  into  lots,  and  resold 
to  the  public  at  enormous  profit.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
the  advertiser  planned  to  make  a  spurious  purchase  of 
the  tract  in  question,  by  means  of  forged  deeds  granted 
by  an  accomplice,  thus  making  through  fraud  a  neat 
profit  of  thirty  thousand  dollars.  The  issue  was,  how 
ever,  disappointing  to  him  in  the  extreme.  No  sooner 
Was  the  sixty  thousand  dollars  on  deposit  in  the  bank 
than  Mary  Turner  drew  out  the  whole  amount,  as  she 
had  a  perfect  right  to  do  legally.  When  the  advertiser 
learned  of  this,  he  was,  naturally  enough,  full  to  over 
flowing  with  wrath.  But  after  an  interview  with  Harris 
he  swallowed  this  wrath  as  best  he  might.  He  found 
that  his  adversary  knew  a  dangerous  deal  as  to  his  vari 
ous  swindling  operations.  In  short,  he  could  not  go 
into  court  with  clean  hands,  which  is  a  prime  stipulation 
of  the  law — though  often  honored  in  the  breach.  But 
the  advertiser's  hands  were  too  perilously  filthy,  so  he 
let  himself  be  mulcted  in  raging  silence. 

The  event  established  Mary  as  the  arbiter  in  her 


WITHIN  THE  LAW  97 

own  coterie.  Here  was,  in  truth,  a  new  game,  a  game 
most  entertaining,  and  most  profitable,  and  not  in  the 
least  risky.  Immediately  after  the  adventure  With  the 
advertiser,  Mary  decided  that  a  certain  General  Hast 
ings  would  make  an  excellent  sacrifice  on  the  altar  of 
justice — and  to  her  own  financial  profit.  The  old  man 
was  a  notorious  roue,  of  most  unsavory  reputation  as  a 
destroyer  of  innocence.  It  was  probable  that  he  would 
easily  fall  a  victim  to  the  ingenuous  charms  of  Aggie. 
As  for  that  precocious  damsel,  she  would  run  no  least 
risk  of  destruction  by  the  satyr.  So,  presently,  there 
were  elaborate  plottings.  General  Hastings  met  Aggie 
in  the  most  casual  way.  He  was  captivated  by  her  fresh 
ness  and  beauty,  her  demureness,  her  ignorance  of  all 
things  vicious.  Straightway,  he  set  his  snares,  being 
himself  already  limed.  He  showered  every  gallant  at 
tention  on  the  nai've  bread-and-butter  miss,  and  succeed 
ed  gratifyingly  soon  in  winning  her  heart — to  all  ap 
pearance.  But  he  gained  nothing  more,  for  the  coy 
creature  abruptly  developed  most  effective  powers  of 
resistance  to  every  blandishment  that  went  beyond 
strictest  propriety.  His  ardor  cooled  suddenly  when 
Harris  filed  the  papers  in  a  suit  for  ten  thousand 
dollars  damages  for  breach  of  promise. 

Even  while  this  affair  was  still  in  the  course  of  exe 
cution,  Mary  found  herself  engaged  in  a  direction  that 
offered  at  least  the  hope  of  attaining  her  great  desire, 
revenge  against  Edward  Gilder.  This  opportunity 
came  in  the  person  of  his  son,  Dick.  After  much 
contriving,  she  secured  an  introduction  to  that  young 


98  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

man.  Forthwith,  she  showed  herself  so  deliciously 
womanly,  so  intelligent,  so  daintily  feminine,  so  singu 
larly  beautiful,  that  the  young  man  was  enamored 
almost  at  once.  The  fact  thrilled  Mary  to  the  depths 
of  her  heart,  for  in  this  son  of  the  man  whom  she 
hated  she  saw  the  instrument  of  vengeance  for  which 
she  had  so  longed.  Yet,  this  one  thing  was  so  vital  to 
her  that  she  said  nothing  of  her  purposes,  not  even  to 
Aggie,  though  that  observant  person  may  have  pos 
sessed  suspicions  more  or  less  near  the  truth. 

It  was  some  such  suspicion  that  lay  behind  her  speech 
as,  in  negligee,  she  sat  cross-legged  on  the  bed,  smoking 
a  cigarette  in  a  very  knowing  way,  while  watching  Mary, 
who  was  adjusting  her  hat  before  the  mirror  of  her 
dressing-table,  one  pleasant  spring  morning. 

"Dollin'  up  a  whole  lot,  ain't  you?"  Aggie  remarked, 
affably,  with  that  laxity  of  language  which  characterized 
her  natural  moods. 

"I  have  a  very  important  engagement  with  Dick 
Gilder,"  Mary  replied,  tranquilly.  She  vouchsafed 
nothing  more  definite  as  to  her  intentions. 

"Nice  boy,  ain't  he?"  Aggie  ventured,  insinuatingly. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  came  the  indifferent  answer 
from  Mary,  as  she  tilted  the  picture  hat  to  an  angle  a 
trifle  more  jaunty. 

The  pseudo  cousin  sniffed. 

"You  s'pose  that,  do  you?  Well,  anyhow,  he's  here 
so  much  we  ought  to  be  chargin'  him  for  his  meal-ticket. 
And  yet  I  ain't  sure  that  you  even  know  whether  he's  the 
real  goods,  or  not." 


WITHIN  THE  LAW  99 

The  fair  face  of  Mary  Turner  hardened  the  least  bit. 
There  shone  an  expression  of  inscrutable  disdain  in  the 
violet  eyes,  as  she  turned  to  regard  Aggie  with  a  level 
glance. 

"I  know  that  he's  the  son — the  only  son ! — of  Edward 
Gilder.  The  fact  is  enough  for  me." 

The  adventuress  of  the  demure  face  shook  her  head 
in  token  of  complete  bafflement.  Her  rosy  lips  pouted 
in  petulant  dissatisfaction. 

"I  don't  get  you,  Mary,"  she  admitted,  querulously. 
"You  never  used  to  look  at  the  men.  The  way  you  acted 
when  you  first  run  round  with  me,  I  thought  you  sure 
was  a  suffragette.  And  then  you  met  this  young  Gilder 
— and — good-night,  nurse  I" 

The  hardness  remained  in  Mary's  face,  as  she  con 
tinued  to  regard  her  friend.  But,  now,  there  was  some 
thing  quizzical  in  the  glance  with  which  she  accompanied 
the  monosyllable: 

"Well?" 

Again,  Aggie  shook  her  head  in  perplexity. 

"His  old  man  sends  you  up  for  a  stretch  for  some 
thing  you  didn't  do — and  you  take  up  with  his  son 
like "  , 

"And  yet  you  don't  understand!"    There  was  scorn \ 
for  such  gross  stupidity  in  the  musical  voice. 

Aggie  choked  a  little  from  the  cigarette  smoke,  as 
she  gave  a  gasp  when  suspicion  of  the  truth  suddenly 
dawned  on  her  slow  intelligence. 

"My  Gawd!"  Her  voice  came  in  a  treble  shriek  of 
apprehension.  "I'm  wise !" 


ioo  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"But  you  must  understand  this,"  Mary  went  on,  with 
an  authoritative  note  in  her  voice.  "Whatever  may  be 
between  young  Gilder  and  me  is  to  be  strictly  my  own 
affair.  It  has  absolutely  nothing  to  do  with  the  rest 
of  you,  or  with  our  schemes  for  money-making.  And, 
what  is  more,  Agnes,  I  don't  want  to  talk  about  it. 
But " 

"Yes?"  queried  Aggie,  encouragingly,  as  the  other 
paused.  She  hopefully  awaited  further  confidences. 

"But  I  do  want  to  know,"  Mary  continued  with  some 
severity,  "what  you  meant  by  talking  in  the  public  street 
yesterday  with  a  common  pickpocket." 

Aggie's  childlike  face  changed  swiftly  its  expression 
from  a  sly  eagerness  to  sullenness. 

"You  know  perfectly  well,  Mary  Turner,"  she  cried 
indignantly,  "that  I  only  said  a  few  words  in  passin'  to 
my  brother  Jim.  And  he  ain't  no  common  pickpocket. 
Hully  Gee !  He's  the  best  dip  in  the  business." 

"But  you  must  not  be  seen  speaking  with  him,"  Mary 
directed,  with  a  certain  air  of  command  now  become 
habitual  to  her  among  the  members  of  her  clique.  "My 
cousin,  Miss  Agnes  Lynch,  must  be  very  careful  as  to 
her  associates." 

The  volatile  Agnes  was  restored  to  good  humor  by 
some  subtle  quality  in  the  utterance,  and  a  family  pride 
asserted  itself. 

"He  just  stopped  me  to  say  it's  been  the  best 
year  he  ever  had,"  she  explained,  with  ostentatious 
vanity. 

Mary  appeared  sceptical. 


WITHIN  THE  LAW  101 

"How  can  that  be,"  she  demaud-erfy  "wlien  the  dead 
line  now  is  John  Street?"  ;''J  ,%  :  »  >,'>'''} ^;  j'.j  |  /;, 

"The  dead  line!"  Aggie  scoffed.  A  peal  of  laughter 
rang  merrily  from  her  curving  lips. 

"Why,  Jim  takes  lunch  every  day  in  the  Wall  Street 
Delmonico's.  Yes,"  she  went  on  with  increasing  ani 
mation,  "and  only  yesterday  he  went  down  to  Police 
Headquarters,  just  for  a  little  excitement,  'cause  Jim 
does  sure  hate  a  dull  life.  Say,  he  told  me  they've  got 
a  mat  at  the  door  with  'Welcome'  on  it — in  letters  three 
feet  high.  Now,  what — do — you — think — of  that!" 
Aggie  teetered  joyously,  the  while  she  inhaled  a  shock 
ingly  large  mouthful  of  smoke.  "And,  oh,  yes!"  she 
continued  happily,  "Jim,  he  lifted  a  leather  from  a  bull 
who  was  standing  in  the  hallway  there  at  Headquarters  1 
Jim  sure  does  love  excitement." 

Mary  lifted  her  dark  eyebrows  in  half-amused  in 
quiry. 

"It's  no  use,  Agnes,"  she  declared,  though  without 
entire  sincerity;  "I  can't  quite  keep  up  with  your  thieves' 
argot — your  slang,  you  know.  Just  what  did  this  broth 
er  of  yours  do?" 

"Why,  he  copped  the  copper's  kale,"  Aggie  trans 
lated,  glibly. 

Mary  threw  out  her  hands  in  a  gesture  of  dismay. 

Thereupon,  the  adventuress  instantly  assumed  a  most 
ladylike  and  mincing  air  which  ill  assorted  with  the 
cigarette  that  she  held  between  her  lips. 

"He  gently  removed  a  leathern  wallet,"  she  said  se 
dately,  "containing  a  large  sum  of  money  from  the  coat- 


102  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

pocket  of  a  member  ,of  the  detective  force."  The  ele 
gance  of  utterance  was  inimitably  done.  But  in  the  next 
instant,  the  ordinary  vulgarity  of  enunciation  was  in 
full  play  again.  "Oh,  Gee!"  she  cried  gaily.  "He 
says  Inspector  Burke's  got  a  gold  watch  that  weighs  a 
ton,  an'  all  set  with  diamonds ! — which  was  give  to  'im 
by — admirin'  friends !  .  .  .  We  didn't  contribute." 

"Given  to  him,"  Mary  corrected,  with  a  tolerant 
smile. 

Aggie  sniffed  once  again. 

"What  difference  does  it  make?"  she  demanded, 
scornfully.  "He's  got  it,  ain't  he?"  And  then  she  add 
ed  with  avaricious  intensity:  "Just  as  soon  as  I  get  time, 
I'm  goin'  after  that  watch — believe  me  1" 

Mary  shook  her  head  in  denial. 

"No,  you  are  not,"  she  said,  calmly.  "You  are  under 
my  orders  now.  And  as  long  as  you  are  working  with 
us,  you  will  break  no  laws." 

"But  I  can't  see "  Aggie  began  to  argue  with  the 

petulance  of  a  spoiled  child. 

Mary's  voice  came  with  a  certainty  of  conviction  born 
of  fact. 

"When  you  were  working  alone,"  she  said  gravely, 
"did  you  have  a  home  like  this?" 

"No,"  was  the  answer,  spoken  a  little  rebelliously. 

"Or  such  clothes?  Most  of  all,  did  you  have  safety 
from  the  police?" 

"No,"  Aggie  admitted,  somewhat  more  responsively. 
c<But,  just  the  same,  I  can't  see " 

Mary  began  putting  on  her  gloves,  and  at  the  same 


WITHIN  THE  LAW  103 

time  strove  to  give  this  remarkable  young  woman  some 
insight  into  her  own  point  of  view,  though  she  knew  the 
task  to  be  one  well-nigh  impossible. 

"Agnes,"  she  said,  didactically,  "the  richest  men  in 
this  country  have  made  their  fortunes,  not  because  of 
the  law,  but  in  spite  of  the  law.  They  made  up  their 
minds  what  they  wanted  to  do,  and  then  they  engaged 
lawyers  clever  enough  to  show  them  how  they  could  do 
it,  and  still  keep  within  the  law.  Any  one  with  brains 
can  get  rich  in  this  country  if  he  will  engage  the  right 
lawyer.  Well,  I  have  the  brains — and  Harris  is  show 
ing  me  the  law — the  wonderful  twisted  law  that  was 
made  for  the  rich !  Since  we  keep  inside  the  law,  we  are 
safe." 

Aggie,  without  much  apprehension  of  the  exact  sit 
uation,  was  moved  to  a  dimpled  mirth  over  the  essen 
tial  humor  of  the  method  indicated. 

"Gee,  that's  funny,"  she  cried  happily.  "You  an' 
me  an'  Joe  Garson  handin'  it  to  'em,  an'  the  bulls  can't 
touch  us !  Next  thing  you  know,  Harris  will  be  havin' 
us  incorporated  as  the  American  Legal  Crime  Society." 

"I  shouldn't  be  in  the  least  surprised,"  Mary  assent 
ed,  as  she  finished  buttoning  her  gloves.  She  smiled, 
but  there  was  a  hint  of  grimness  in  the  bending  of  her 
lips.  That  grimness  remained,  as  she  glanced  at  the 
clock,  then  went  toward  the  door  of  the  room,  speaking 
over  her  shoulder. 

"And,  now  I  must  be  off  to  a  most  important  en 
gagement  with  Mr.  Dick  Gilder."  . 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A  TIP  FROM  HEADQUARTERS. 

Presently,  when  she  had  finished  the  cigarette,  Aggie 
proceeded  to  her  own  chamber  and  there  spent  a  con 
siderable  time  in  making  a  toilette  calculated  to  set  off 
to  its  full  advantage  the  slender  daintiness  of  her  form. 
When  at  last  she  was  gowned  to  her  satisfaction,  she 
went  into  the  drawing-room  of  the  apartment  and  gave 
herself  over  to  more  cigarettes,  in  an  easy  chair, 
sprawled  out  in  an  attitude  of  comfort  never  taught  in 
any  finishing  school  for  young  ladies.  She  at  the  same 
time  indulged  her  tastes  in  art  and  literature  by  reading 
the  jokes  and  studying  the  comic  pictures  in  an  evening 
paper,  which  the  maid  brought  in  at  her  request.  She 
had  about  exhausted  this  form  of  amusement  when  the 
coming  of  Joe  Garson,  who  was  usually  in  and  out  of 
the  apartment  a  number  of  times  daily,  provided  a  wel 
come  diversion.  After  a  casual  greeting  between  the 
two,  Aggie  explained,  in  response  to  his  question,  that 
Mary  had  gone  out  to  keep  an  engagement  with  Dick 
Gilder. 

There  was  a  little  period  of  silence  while  the  man, 
with  the  resolute  face  and  the  light  gray  eyes  that  shone 
so  clearly  underneath  the  thick,  waving  silver  hair,  held 
his  head  bent  downward  as  if  in  intent  thought.  When, 

104 


IDQUARTERS      105 

:ertain  quality  in  his  voice 
him  curiously. 
|good  deal  lately,"  he  said, 

irt  agreement. 


io6  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Why?"  Aggie  demanded,  in  surprise. 

Carson's  manner  grew  easier,  now  that  the  subject 
was  well  broached. 

"Old  man  Gilder's  got  a  big  pull,"  he  vouchsafed, 
"and  if  he  caught  on  to  his  boy's  going  with  Mary,  he'd 
be  likely  to  send  the  police  after  us — strong  1     Believe-j 
me,  I  ain't  looking  for  any  trip  up  the  river." 

Aggie  shook  her  head,  quite  unaffected  by  the  man's 
suggestion  of  possible  peril  in  the  situation. 

"We  ain't  done  nothin'  they  can  touch  us  for,"  she 
declared,  wvtfc  assurance.  "Mary  says  so." 

Garson,  however,  was  unconvinced,  notwithstanding 
his  deference  to  the  judgment  of  his  leader. 

"Whether  we've  done  anything,  or  whether  we 
haven't,  don't  matter,"  he  objected.  "Once  the  police 
set  out  after  you,  they'll  get  you.  Russia  ain't  in  it  with 
some  of  the  things  I  have  seen  pulled  off  in  this  town." 

"Oh,  can  that  'fraid  talk!"  Aggie  exclaimed,  roughly, 
"I  tell  you  they  can't  get  us.  We've  got  our  fingers 
crossed." 

She  would  have  said  more,  but  a  noise  at  the  hall 
door  interrupted  her,  and  she  looked  up  to  see  a  man 
in  the  opening,  while  behind  him  appeared  the  maid, 
protesting  angrily. 

"Never  mind  that  announcing  thing  with  me,"  the 
newcomer  rasped  to  the  expostulating  servant,  in  a  voice 
that  suited  well  his  thick-set  figure,  with  the  bullet- 
shaped  head  and  the  bull-like  neck.  Then  he  turned  to 
the  two  in  the  drawing-room,  both  of  whom  had  now 
risen  to  their  feet. 


A  TIP  FROM  HEADQUARTERS        107 

"It's  all  right,"  Fannie,"  Aggie  said  hastily  to  the 
flustered  maid.  "You  can  go." 

As  the  servant,  after  an  indignant  toss  of  the  head, 
departed  along  the  passage,  the  visitor  clumped  heav 
ily  forward  and  stopped  in  the  center  of  the  room,  look 
ing  first  at  one  and  then  the  other  of  the  two  with  a 
smile  that  was  not  pleasant.  He  was  not  at  pains  to 
remove  the  derby  hat  which  he  wore  rather  far  back  on 
his  head.  By  this  single  sign,  one  might  have  recog 
nized  Cassidy,  who  had  had  Mary  Turner  in  his 
charge  on  the  occasion  of  her  ill-fated  visit  to  Edward 
Gilder's  office,  four  years  before,  though  now  the  man 
had  thickened  somewhat,  and  his  ruddy  face  was  grown 
even  coarser.  c 

"Hello,  Joe!"  he  cried,  familiarly.    "Hello,  Aggie!" 

The  light-gray  eyes  of  the  forger  had  narrowed  per 
ceptibly  as  he  recognized  the  identity  of  the  uncere 
monious  caller,  while  the  lines  of  his  firmly  set  mouth 
took  on  an  added  fixity. 

"Well?"  he  demanded.    His  voice  was  emotionless. 

"Just  a  little  friendly  call,"  Cassidy  announced,  In  his 
strident  voice.  "Where's  the  lady  of  the  house?" 

"Out."     It  was  Aggie  who  spoke,  very  sharply. 

"Well,  Joe,"  Cassidy  went  on,  without  paying  further 
heed  to  the  girl  for  a  moment,  "when  she  comes  back, 
just  tell  her  it's  up  to  her  to  make  a  get-away,  and  to 
make  it  quick." 

But  Aggie  was  not  one  to  be  ignored  under  any  cir 
cumstances.  Now,  she  spoke  with  some  acerbity  in 
iier  voice,  which  could  at  will  be  wondrous  soft  and  low. 


io8  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Say!"  she  retorted  viciously,  "you  can't  throw  any 
scare  into  us.  You  hain't  got  anything  on  us.  See?" 

Cassidy,  in  response  to  this  outburst,  favored  the  girl 
with  a  long  stare,  and  there  was  hearty  amusement  in 
his  tones  as  he  answered. 

"Nothing  on  you,  eh?  Well*  well,  let's  see."  He 
regarded  Garson  with  a  grin.  "You  are  Joe  Garson, 
forger."  As  he  spoke,  the  detective  took  a  note-book 
from  a  pocket,  found  a  page,  and  then  read:  "First  ar 
rested  in  1891,  for  forging  the  name  of  Edwin  Good- 
sell  to  a  check  for  ten  thousand  dollars.  Again  arrest 
ed  June  19,  1893,  for  forgery.  Arrested  in  April, 
1898,  for  forging  the  signature  of  Oscar  Hemmenway 
to  a  series  of  bonds  that  were  counterfeit.  Arrested  as 
the  man  back  of  the  Reilly  gang,  in  1903.  Arrested  in 
1908  for  forgery." 

There  was  no  change  in  the  face  or  pose  of  the  man 
who  listened  to  the  reading.  When  it  was  done,  and 
the  officer  looked  up  with  a  resumption  of  his  triumphant 
grin,  Garson  spoke  quietly. 

"Haven't  any  records  of  convictions,  have  you?" 

The  grin  died,  and  a  snarl  sprang  in  its  stead. 

"No,"  he  snapped,  vindictively.  "But  we've  got  the 
right  dope  on  you,  all  right,  Joe  Garson."  He  turned 
savagely  on  the  girl,  who  now  had  regained  her  usual 
expression  of  demure  innocence,  but  with  her  rather  too 
heavy  brows  drawn  a  little  lower  than  their  wont,  un 
der  the  influence  of  an  emotion  otherwise  concealed. 

"And  you're  little  Aggie  Lynch,"  Cassidy  declared, 
as  he  thrust  the  note-book  back  into  his  pocket.  "Just 


A  TIP  FROM  HEADQUARTERS        109 

now,  you're  posing  as  Mary  Turner's  cousin.  You 
served  two  years  in  Burnsing  for  blackmail.  You  were 
arrested  in  Buffalo,  convicted,  and  served  your  stretch. 
Nothing  on  you?  Well,  well!"  Again  there  was  tri 
umph  in  the  officer's  chuckle. 

Aggie  showed  no  least  sign  of  perturbation  in  the 
face  of  this  revelation  of  her  unsavory  record.  Only 
an  expression  of  half-incredulous  wonder  and  delight 
beamed  from  her  widely  opened  blue  eyes  and  was  em 
phasized  in  the  rounding  of  the  little  mouth. 

"Why,"  she  cried,  and  now  there  was  softness  enough 
in  the  cooing  notes,  "my  Gawd!  It  looks  as  though 
you  had  actually  been  workin' !" 

The  sarcasm  was  without  effect  on  the  dull  sensibili 
ties  of  the  officer.  He  went  on  speaking  with  obvious 
enjoyment  of  the  extent  to  which  his  knowledge  reached. 

"And  the  head  of  the  gang  is  Mary  Turner.  Arrested 
four  years  ago  for  robbing  the  Emporium.  Did  her 
stretch  of  three  years." 

"Is  that  all  you've  got  about  her?"  Garson  demand 
ed,  with  such  abruptness  that  Cassidy  forgot  his  dignity 
sufficiently  to  answer  with  an  unqualified  yes. 

The  forger  continued  speaking  rapidly,  and  now  there 
was  an  undercurrent  of  feeling  in  his  voice. 

"Nothing  in  your  record  of  her  about  her  coming 
out  without  a  friend  in  the  world,  and  trying  to 
go  straight?  You  ain't  got  nothing  in  that  pretty  little 
book  of  your'n  about  your  going  to  the  millinery  store 
where  she  finally  got  a  job,  and  tipping  them  off  to 
where  she  come  from?" 


no  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Sure,  they  was  tipped  off,"  Cassidy  answered,  quite 
unmoved.  And  he  added,  swelling  visibly  with  im 
portance:  "We  got  to  protect  the  city." 

"Got  anything  in  that  record  of  your'n,"  Garson  went 
on  venomously,   "about  her  getting  another  job,  and 
your  following  her  up  again,  and  having  her  thrown 
out?    Got  it  there  about  the  letter  you  had  old  Gilder  * 
write,  so  that  his  influence  would  get  her  canned?" 

"Oh,  we  had  her  right  the  first  time,"  Cassidy  ad 
mitted,  complacently. 

Then,  the  bitterness  of  Garson's  soul  was  revealed  by 
the  fierceness  in  his  voice  as  he  replied. 

"You  did  not!  She  was  railroaded  for  a  job  she 
never  done.  She  went  in  honest,  and  she  came  out 
honest." 

The  detective  indulged  himself  in  a  cackle  of  sneer 
ing  merriment. 

"And  that's  why  she's  here  now  with  a  gang  of 
crooks,"  he  retorted. 

Garson  met  the  implication  fairly. 

"Where  else  should  she  be?"  he  demanded,  violently. 
"You  ain't  got  nothing  in  that  record  about  my  jumping 
into  the  river  after  her?"  The  forger's  voice  deepened 
and  trembled  with  the  intensity  of  his  emotion,  which 
was  now  grown  so  strong  that  any  who  listened  and 
looked  might  guess  something  of  the  truth  as  to  his 
feeling  toward  this  woman  of  whom  he  spoke.  "That's 
where  I  found  her — a  girl  that  never  done  nobody  any 
harm,  starving  because  you  police  wouldn't  give  her  a  • 
chance  to  work.  In  the  river  because  she  wouldn't  take 


A  TIP  FROM  HEADQUARTERS        in 

the  only  other  way  that  was  left  her  to  make  a  living, 
because  she  was  keeping  straight  1  .  .  .  Have  you  got 
any  of  that  in  your  book?" 

Cassidy,  who  had  been  scowling  in  the  face  of  this 
arraignment,  suddenly  gave  vent  to  a  croaking  laugh  of 
derision. 

"Huh!"  he  said,  contemptuously.  "I  guess  you're 
stuck  on  her,  eh?" 

At  the  words,  an  instantaneous  change  swept  over 
Garson.  Hitherto,  he  had  been  tense,  his  face  set  with 
emotion,  a  man  strong  and  sullen,  with  eyes  as  clear  and 
heartless  as  those  of  a  beast  in  the  wild.  Now,  without 
warning,  a  startling  transformation  was  wrought.  His 
form  stiffened  to  rigidity  after  one  lightning-swift  step 
forward,  and  his  face  grayed.  The  eyes  glowed  with 
the  fires  of  a  man's  heart  in  a  spasm  of  hate.  He  was 
the  embodiment  of  rage,  as  he  spoke  huskily,  his  voice 
a  whisper  that  was  yet  louder  than  any  shout. 

"Cut  that!" 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  locked.  Cassidy  struggled 
with  all  his  pride  against  the  dominant  fury  this  man 
hurled  on  him. 

"What?"  he  demanded,  blusteringly.  But  his  tone 
was  weaker  than  its  wont. 

"I  mean,"  Garson  repeated,  and  there  was  finality  in 
his  accents,  a  deadly  quality  that  was  appalling,  "I  mean, 
cut  it  out — now,  here,  and  all  the  time!  It  don't  go!" 
The  voice  rose  slightly.  The  effect  of  it  was  more  pene- 
trant  than  a  scream.  "It  don't  go !  .  .  .Do  you  get 
me?" 


1 1 2  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

There  was  a  short  interval  of  silence,  then  the  officer's 
eyes  at  last  fell.  It  was  Aggie  who  relieved  the  tension 
of  the  scene. 

"He's  got  you,"  she  remarked,  airily.  "Oi,  oi !  He's 
got  you !" 

There  were  again  a  few  seconds  of  pause,  and  then 
Cassidy  made  an  observation  that  revealed  in  some 
measure  the  shock  of  the  experience  he  had  just  under 
gone. 

"You  would  have  been  a  big  man,  Joe,  if  it  hadn't 
been  for  that  temper  of  yours.  It's  got  you  into  trouble 
once  or  twice  already.  Some  time  it's  likely  to  prove 
your  finish." 

Garson  relaxed  his  immobility,  and  a  little  color  crept 
into  his  cheeks. 

"That's  my  business,'*  he  responded,  dully. 

"Anyway,"  the  officer  went  on,  with  a  new  confidence, 
now  that  his  eyes  were  free  from  the  gaze  that  had 
burned  into  his  soul,  "you've  got  to  clear  out,  the  whole 
gang  of  you — and  do  it  quick." 

Aggie,  who  as  a  matter  of  fact  began  to  feel  that  she 
was  not  receiving  her  due  share  of  attention,  now  inter 
posed,  moving  forward  till  her  face  was  close  to  the 
detective's. 

"We  don't  scare  worth  a  cent,"  she  snapped,  with  the 
virulence  of  a  vixen.  "You  can't  do  anything  to  us. 
We  ain't  broke  the  law."  There  came  a  sudden  ripple 
of  laughter,  and  the  charming  lips  curved  joyously,  as 
she  added:  "Though  perhaps  we  have  bent  it  a  bit." 


A  TIP  FROM  HEADQUARTERS        113 

Cassidy  sneered,  outraged  by  such  impudence  on  the 
part  of  an  ex-convict. 

"Don't  make  no  difference  what  you've  done,"  he 
growled.  "Gee !"  he  went  on,  with  a  heavy  sneer.  "But 
things  are  coming  to  a  pretty  pass  when  a  gang  of  crooks 
gets  to  arguing  about  their  rights.  That's  funny,  that 
is!" 

"Then  laugh!"  Aggie  exclaimed,  insolently,  and  made 
a  face  at  the  officer.  "Ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"Well,  you've  got  the  tip,"  Cassidy  returned,  some 
what  disconcerted,  after  a  stolid  fashion  of  his  own. 
"It's  up  to  you  to  take  it,  that's  all.  If  you  don't,  one 
of  you  will  make  a  long  visit  with  some  people  out  of 
town,  and  it'll  probably  be  Mary.  Remember,  I'm  giv 
ing  it  to  you  straight." 

Aggie  assumed  her  formal  society  manner,  exagger 
ated  to  the  point  of  extravagance. 

"Do  come  again,  little  one,"  she  chirruped,  caress 
ingly.  "I've  enjoyed  your  visit  so  much!" 

But  Cassidy  paid  no  apparent  attention  to  her  frivo- 
lousness;  only  turned  and  went  noisily  out  of  the  draw 
ing-room,  offering  no  return  to  her  daintily  inflected 
good-afternoon. 

For  her  own  part,  as  she  heard  the  outer  door  close 
behind  the  detective,  Aggie's  expression  grew  vicious, 
and  the  heavy  brows  drew  very  low,  until  the  level  line 
almost  made  her  prettiness  vanish. 

"The  truck-horse  detective !"  she  sneered.  "An  eigh 
teen  collar,  and  a  six-and-a-half  hatl  He  sure  had  his 
nerve,  trying  to  bluff  us!" 


n4  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

But  it  was  plain  that  Garson  was  of  another  mood. 
There  was  anxiety  in  his  face,  as  he  stood  staring  vague 
ly  out  of  the  window. 

"Perhaps  it  wasn't  a  bluff,  Aggie,"  he  suggested. 

"Well,  what  have  we  done,  I'd  like  to  know?"  the 
girl  demanded,  confidently.  She  took  a  cigarette  and  a 
match  from  the  tabouret  beside  her,  and  stretched  her 
feet  comfortably,  if  very  inelegantly,  on  a  chair  op 
posite. 

Garson  answered  with  a  note  of  weariness  that  was 
unlike  him. 

"It  ain't  what  you  have  done,"  he  said,  quietly.  "It's 
what  they  can  make  a  jury  think  you've  done.  And, 
once  they  set  out  to  get  you— God,  how  they  can  frame 

things!  If  they  ever  start  out  after  Mary "  He 

did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  sank  down  into  his  chair 
with  a  groan  that  was  almost  of  despair. 

The  girl  replied  with  a  burst  of  careless  laughter. 

"Joe,"  she  said  gaily,  "you're  one  grand  little  forger, 
all  right,  all  right.  But  Mary's  got  the  brains.  Pooh, 
I'll  string  along  with  her  as  far  as  she  wants  to  go. 
She's  educated,  she  is.  She  ain't  like  you  and  me,  Joe. 
She  talks  like  a  lady,  and,  what's  a  damned  sight  harder, 
she  acts  like  a  lady.  I  guess  I  know.  Wake  me  up  any 
old  night  and  ask  me — just  ask  me,  that's  all.  She's 
been  tryin'  to  make  a  lady  out  of  me !" 

The  vivaciousness  of  the  girl  distracted  the  man  for 
the  moment  from  the  gloom  of  his  thoughts,  and  he 
turned  to  survey  the  speaker  with  a  cynical  amusement. 

"Swell  chance!"  he  commented,  drily. 


A  TIP  FROM  HEADQUARTERS        115 

"Oh,  I'm  not  so  worse !  Just  you  watch  out."  The 
lively  girl  sprang  up,  discarded  the  cigarette,  adjusted 
an  imaginary  train,  and  spoke  lispingly  in  a  society  man 
ner  much  more  moderate  and  convincing  than  that  with 
which  she  had  favored  the  retiring  Cassidy.  Voice, 
pose  and  gesture  proclaimed  at  least  the  excellent 
mimic. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Jones!  So  good  of  you  to 
call  I  ...  My  dear  Miss  Smith,  this  is  indeed  a  pleas 
ure.1*  She  seated  herself  again,  quite  primly  now,  and 
moved  her  hands  over  the  tabouret  appropriately  to  her 
words.  "One  lump,  or  two?  .  .  .  Yes,  I  just  love 
bridge.  No,  I  don't  play,"  she  continued,  simpering; 
"but,  just  the  same,  I  love  it."  With  this  absurd  end 
ing,  Aggie  again  arranged  her  feet  according  to  her  lik 
ing  on  the  opposite  chair.  "That's  the  kind  of  stuff 
she's  had  me  doing,"  she  rattled  on  in  her  coarser  voice, 
"and  believe  me,  Joe,  it's  damned  near  killing  me.  But 
all  the  same,"  she  hurried  on,  with  a  swift  revulsion  of 
mood  to  the  former  serious  topic,  "I'm  for  Mary 
strong!  You  stick  to  her,  Joe,  and  you'll  wear  dia- 
mon's.  .  .  .  And  that  reminds  me!  I  wish  she'd  let 
me  wear  mine,  but  she  won't.  She  says  they're  vulgar  (> 
for  an  innocent  country  girl  like  her  cousin,  Agnes 
Lynch.  Ain't  that  fierce  ?  .  .  .  How  can  anything  be 
vulgar  that's  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  a  carat?" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  LEGAL  DOCUMENT. 

Mary  Turner  spent  less  than  an  hour  in  that  mys 
teriously  important  engagement  with  Dick  Gilder,  of 
which  she  had  spoken  to  Aggie.  After  separating  from 
the  young  man,  she  went  alone  down  Broadway,  walk 
ing  the  few  blocks  of  distance  to  Sigismund  Harris's 
office.  On  a  corner,  her  attention  was  caught  by  the 
forlorn  face  of  a  girl  crossing  into  the  side  street.  A 
closer  glance  showed  that  the  privation  of  the  gaunt 
features  was  emphasized  by  the  scant  garments,  almost 
in  tatters.  Instantly,  Mary's  quick  sympathies  were 
aroused,  the  more  particularly  since  the  wretched  child 
seemed  of  about  the  age  she  herself  had  been  when 
her  great  suffering  had  befallen.  So,  turning  aside,  she 
soon  caught  up  with  the  girl  and  spoke  an  inquiry. 

It  was  the  familiar  story,  a  father  out  of  work,  a  sick 
mother,  a  brood  of  hungry  children.  Some  confused 
words  of  distress  revealed  the  fact  that  the  wobegone 
girl  was  even  then  fighting  the  final  battle  of  purity 
against  starvation.  That  she  still  fought  on  in  such 
case  proved  enough  as  to  her  decency  of  nature,  whole 
some  despite  squalid  surroundings.  Mary's  heart  was 
deeply  moved,  and  her  words  of  comfort  came  with  a 
simple  sincerity  that  was  like  new  life  to  the  sorely  beset 

116 


A  LEGAL  DOCUMENT  117 

waif.  She  promised  to  interest  herself  in  securing  em 
ployment  for  the  father,  such  care  as  the  mother  and 
children  might  need,  along  with  a  proper  situation  for 
the  girl  herself.  In  evidence  of  her  purpose,  she  took 
her  engagement-book  from  her  bag,  and  set  down  the 
street  and  number  of  the  East  Side  tenement  where  the 
family  possessed  the  one  room  that  mocked  the  word 
home,  and  she  gave  a  banknote  to  the  girl  to  serve 
the  immediate  needs. 

When  she  went  back  to  resume  her  progress  down 
Broadway,  Mary  felt  herself  vastly  cheered  by  the 
warm  glow  within,  which  is  the  reward  of  a  kindly  act, 
gratefully  received.  And,  on  this  particular  morning, 
she  craved  such  assuagement  of  her  spirit,  for  the  con 
science  that,  in  spite  of  all  her  misdeeds,  still  lived  was 
struggling  within  her.  In  her  revolt  against  a  world 
that  had  wantonly  inflicted  on  her  the  worst  torments, 
Mary  Turner  had  thought  that  she  might  safely  dis 
regard  those  principles  in  which  she  had  been  so  care 
fully  reared.  She  had  believed  that  by  the  deliberate 
adoption  of  a  life  of  guile  within  limits  allowed  by  the 
law,  she  would  find  solace  for  her  wants,  while  feeling 
that  thus  she  avenged  herself  in  some  slight  measure 
for  the  indignities  she  had  undergone  unjustly.  Yet, 
as  the  days  passed,  days  of  success  as  far  as  her  schem 
ing  was  concerned,  this  brilliant  woman,  who  had  tried 
to  deem  herself  unscrupulous,  found  that  lawlessness 
within  the  law  failed  to  satisfy  something  deep  within 
her  soul.  The  righteousness  that  was  her  instinct  was 
offended  by  the  triumphs  achieved  through  so  devious 


n8  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

devices,  though  she  resolutely  set  her  will  to  suppress 
any  spiritual  rebellion. 

There  was,  as  well,  another  grievance  of  her  nature, 
yet  more  subtle,  infinitely  more  painful.  This  lay  in  her 
craving  for  tenderness.  She  was  wholly  woman,  not 
withstanding  the  virility  of  her  intelligence,  its  audacity, 
its  aggressiveness.  She  had  a  heart  yearning  for  the 
multitudinous  affections  that  are  the  prerogative  of  the 
feminine;  she  had  a  heart  longing  for  love,  to  receive 
and  to  give  in  full  measure.  .  .  .  And  her  life  was 
barren.  Since  the  death  of  her  father,  there  had  been 
none  on  whom  she  could  lavish  the  great  gifts  of  her 
tenderness.  Through  the  days  of  her  working  in  the 
store,  circumstances  had  shut  her  out  from  all  associa 
tion  with  others  congenial.  No  need  to  rehearse  the 
impossibilities  of  companionship  in  the  prison  life. 
Since  then,  the  situation  had  not  vitally  improved,  in 
spite  of  her  better  worldly  condition.  For  Garson,  who 
had  saved  her  from  death,  she  felt  a  strong  and  lasting 
gratitude — nothing  that  relieved  the  longing  for  nobler 
affections.  There  was  none  other  with  whom  she  had 
.any  intimacy  except  that,  of  a  sort,  writh  Aggie  Lynch, 
and  by  no  possibility  could  the  adventuress  serve  as  an 
object  of  deep  regard.  The  girl  was  amusing  enough, 
and,  indeed,  a  most  likable  person  at  her  best.  But 
she  was,  after  all,  a  shallow-pated  individual,  without 
a  shred  of  principle  of  any  sort  whatsoever,  save  the 
single  merit  of  unswerving  loyalty  to  her  "pals."  Mary 
cherished  a  certain  warm  kindliness  for  the  first  woman 


A  LEGAL  DOCUMENT  119 

who  had  befriended  her  in  any  way,  but  beyond  this 
there  was  no  finer  feeling. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  not  quite  accurate  to  say  that  Mary 
Turner  had  had  no  intimacy  in  which  her  heart  might 
have  been  seriously  engaged.  In  one  instance,  of  re 
cent  happening,  she  had  been  much  in  association  with 
a  young  man  who  was  of  excellent  standing  in  the  world, 
who  was  of  good  birth,  good  education,  of  delightful 
manners,  and,  too,  wholesome  and  agreeable  beyond  the 
most  of  his  class.  This  was  Dick  Gilder,  and,  since  her 
companionship  with  him,  Mary  had  undergone  a  revul 
sion  greater  than  ever  before  against  the  fate  thrust  on 
her,  which  now  at  last  she  had  chosen  to  welcome  and 
nourish  by  acquiescence  as  best  she  might. 

Of  course,  she  could  not  waste  tenderness  on  this  man, 
for  she  had  deliberately  set  out  to  make  him  the  in 
strument  of  her  vengeance  against  his  father.  For  that 
very  reason,  she  suffered  much  from  a  conscience  newly 
clamorous.  Never  for  an  instant  did  she  hesitate  in 
her  long-cherished  plan  of  revenge  against  the  one  who 
had  brought  ruin  on  her  life,  yet,  through  all  her  sat 
isfaction  before  the  prospect  of  final  victory  after  con 
tinued  delay,  there  ran  the  secret,  inescapable  sorrow 
over  the  fact  that  she  must  employ  this  means  to  attain 
her  end.  She  had  no  thought  of  weakening,  but  the 
better  spirit  within  her  warred  against  the  lust  to  repay 
an  eye  for  an  eye.  It  was  the  new  Gospel  against  the 
old  Law,  and  the  fierceness  of  the  struggle  rent  her. 
Just  now,  the  doing  of  the  kindly  act  seemed  somehow 
to  gratify  not  only  her  maternal  instinct  toward  service 


120  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

of  love,  but,  too,  to  muffle  for  a  little  the  rebuking  voice 
of  her  inmost  soul. 

So  she  went  her  way  more  at  ease,  more  nearly  con 
tent  again  with  herself  and  with  her  system  of  living. 
Indeed,  as  she  was  shown  into  the  private  office  of  the 
ingenious  interpreter  of  the  law,  there  was  not  a  hint 
of  any  trouble  beneath  the  bright  mask  of  her  beauty, 
radiantly  smiling. 

Harris  regarded  his  client  with  an  appreciative  eye, 
as  he  bowed  in  greeting,  and  invited  her  to  a  seat.  The 
lawyer  was  a  man  of  fine  physique,  with  a  splendid  face 
of  the  best  Semitic  type,  in  which  were  large,  dark, 
sparkling  eyes — eyes  a  Lombroso  perhaps  might  have 
judged  rather  too  closely  set.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Har 
ris  had  suffered  a  flagrant  injustice  in  his  own  life  from 
a  suspicion  of  wrong-doing  wrhich  he  had  not  merited 
by  any  act.  This  had  caused  him  a  loss  of  prestige  in 
his  profession.  He  presently  adopted  the  wily  sugges 
tion  of  the  adage,  that  it  is  well  to  have  the  game  if 
you  have  the  name,  and  he  resolutely  set  himself  to  the 
task  of  making  as  much  money  as  possible  by  any  means 
convenient.  Mary  Turner  as  a  client  delighted  his 
heart,  both  because  of  the  novelty  of  her  ideas  and  for 
the  munificence  of  the  fees  which  she  ungrudgingly 
paid  with  never  a  protest.  So,  as  he  beamed  on  her 
now,  and  spoke  a  compliment,  it  was  rather  the  lawyer 
than  the  man  that  was  moved  to  admiration. 

"Why,  Miss  Turner,  how  charming!"  he  declared, 
smiling.  "Really,  my  dear  young  lady,  you  look  posi 
tively  bridal." 


A  LEGAL  DOCUMENT  121 

"Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  Mary  rejoined,  with  a  whim 
sical  pout,  as  she  seated  herself.  For  the  moment  her 
air  became  distrait,  but  she  quickly  regained  her  poise, 
as  the  lawyer,  who  had  dropped  back  into  his  chair 
behind  the  desk,  went  on  speaking.  His  tone  now  was 
crisply  business-like. 

"I  sent  your  cousin,  Miss  Agnes  Lynch,  the  release 
which  she  is  to  sign,"  he  explained,  "when  she  gets  that 
money  from  General  Hastings.  I  wish  you'd  look  it 
over,  when  you  have  time  to  spare.  It's  all  right,  I'm 
sure,  but  I  confess  that  I  appreciate  your  opinion  of 
things,  Miss  Turner,  even  of  legal  documents — yes, 
indeed,  I  do ! — perhaps  particularly  of  legal  documents." 

"Thank  you,"  Mary  said,  evidently  a  little  gratified 
by  the  frank  praise  of  the  learned  gentleman  for  her 
abilities.  "And  have  you  heard  from  them  yet?"  she 
inquired. 

"No,"  the  lawyer  replied.  "I  gave  them  until  to 
morrow.  If  I  don't  hear  then,  I  shall  start  suit  at  once." 
Then  the  lawyer's  manner  became  unusually  bland  and 
self-satisfied  as  he  opened  a  drawer  of  the  desk  and 
brought  forth  a  rather  formidable-appearing  document, 
bearing  a  most  impressive  seal.  "You  will  be  glad  to 
know,"  he  went  on  unctuously,  "that  I  was  entirely  suc 
cessful  in  carrying  out  that  idea  of  yours  as  to  the  in 
junction.  My  dear  Miss  Turner,"  he  went  on  with 
florid  compliment,  "Portia  was  a  squawking  baby,  com 
pared  with  you." 

"Thank  you  again,"  Mary  answered,  as  she  took  the 
legal  paper  which  he  held  outstretched  toward  her. 


122  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Her  scarlet  lips  were  curved  happily,  and  the  clear  oval 
of  her  cheeks  blossomed  to  a  deeper  rose.  For  a  mo 
ment,  her  glance  ran  over  the  words  of  the  page.  Then 
she  looked  up  at  the  lawyer,  and  there  were  new  lusters 
in  the  violet  eyes. 

"It's  splendid,"  she  declared.  "Did  you  have  much 
trouble  in  getting  it?" 

Harris  permitted  himself  the  indulgence  of  an  un 
professional  chuckle  of  keenest  amusement  before  he 
answered. 

"Why,  no!"  he  declared,  with  reminiscent  enjoyment 
in  his  manner.  "That  is,  not  really!"  There  was  an 
enormous  complacency  in  his  air  over  the  event.  "But, 
at  the  outset,  when  I  made  the  request,  the  judge 
just  naturally  nearly  fell  off  the  bench.  Then,  I  showed 
him  that  Detroit  case,  to  which  you  had  drawn  my  at 
tention,  and  the  upshot  of  it  all  was  that  he  gave  me 
what  I  wanted  without  a  whimper.  He  couldn't  help 
himself,  you  know.  That's  the  long  and  the  short  of 


it." 


That  mysterious  document  with  the  imposing  seal, 
the  request  for  which  had  nearly  caused  a  judge  to  fall 
off  the  bench,  reposed  safely  in  Mary's  bag  when  she 
returned  to  the  apartment  after  the  visit  to  the  lawyer's 
office. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MARKED  MONEY. 

Mary  had  scarcely  received  from  Aggie  an  account 
of  Cassidy's  threatening  invasion,  when  the  maid  an 
nounced  that  Mr.  Irwin  had  called. 

''Show  him  in,  in  just  two  minutes,"  Mary  directed. 

"Who's  the  gink?"  Aggie  demanded,  with  that  slangy 
diction  which  was  her  habit. 

''You  ought  to  know,"  Mary  returned,  smiling  a  lit 
tle.  "He's  the  lawyer  retained  by  General  Hastings  in 
the  matter  of  a  certain  breach-of-promise  suit." 

"Oh,  you  mean  yours  truly,"  Aggie  exclaimed,  not  in 
the  least  abashed  by  her  forgetfulness  in  an  affair  that 
concerned  herself  so  closely.  "Hope  he's  brought  the 
money.  What  about  it?" 

"Leave  the  room  now,"  Mary  ordered,  crisply. 
"When  I  call  to  you,  come  in,  but  be  sure  and  leave 
everything  to  me.  Merely  follow  my  lead.  And, 
Agnes — be  very  ingenue." 

"Oh,  I'm  wise — I'm  wise,"  Aggie  nodded,  as  she  hur 
ried  out  toward  her  bedroom.  "I'll  be  a  squab — surest 
thing  you  know !" 

Next  moment,  Mary  gave  a  formal  greeting  to  the 
lawyer  who  represented  the  man  she  planned  to  mulct 
effectively,  and  invited  him  to  a  chair  near  her,  while 

123 


i24  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

she  herself  retained  her  place  at  the  desk,  within  a  draw* 
er  of  which  she  had  just  locked  the  formidable-appeal 
ing  document  received  from  Harris. 

Irwin  lost  no  time  in  coming  to  the  point. 
"I  called  in  reference  to  this  suit,  which  Miss  Agnes 
Lynch  threatens  to  bring  against  my  client,  General 
Hastings." 

Mary  regarded  the  attorney  with  a  level  glance,  se 
renely  expressionless  as  far  as  could  be  achieved  by  eyes 
so  clear  and  shining,  and  her  voice  was  cold  as  she  re 
plied  with  significant  brusqueness. 

"It's  not  a  threat,  Mr.  Irwin.  The  suit  will  be 
brought." 

The  lawyer  frowned,  and  there  was  a  strident  note 
in  his  voice  when  he  answered,  meeting  her  glance  with 
an  uncompromising  stare  of  hostility. 

"You  realize,  of  course,"  he  said  finally,  "that  this  is 
merely  plain  blackmail." 

There  was  not  the  change  of  a  feature  in  the  face  of 
the  woman  who  listened  to  the  accusation.  Her  eyes 
steadfastly  retained  their  clear  gaze  into  his;  her  voice 
was  still  coldly  formal,  as  before. 

"If  it's  blackmail,  Mr.  Irwin,  why  don't  you  consult 
the  police?"  she  inquired,  with  manifest  disdain.  Mary 
turned  to  the  maid,  who  now  entered  in  response  to  the 
bell  she  had  sounded  a  minute  before.  "Fanny,  will 
you  ask  Miss  Lynch  to  come  in,  please?"  Then  she 
faced  the  lawyer  again,  with  an  aloofness  of  manner 
that  was  contemptuous.  "Really,  Mr.  Irwin,"  she 
drawled,  "why  don't  you  take  this  matter  to  the  police?" 


MARKED  MONEY  125 

The  reply  was  uttered  with  conspicuous  exasperation. 

"You  know  perfectly  well,"  the  lawyer  said  bitterly, 
"that  General  Hastings  cannot  afford  such  publicity. 
His  position  would  be  jeopardized." 

"Oh,  as  for  that,"  Mary  suggested  evenly,  and  now 
there  was  a  trace  of  flippancy  in  her  fashion  of  speaking, 
"I'm  sure  the  police  would  keep  your  complaint  a  secret. 
Really,  you  know,  Mr.  Irwin,  I  think  you  had  better 
take  your  troubles  to  the  police,  rather  than  to  me. 
You  will  get  much  more  sympathy  from  them." 

The  lawyer  sprang  up,  with  an  air  of  sudden  deter 
mination. 

"Very  well,  I  will  then,"  he  declared,  sternly.  "I 
will!" 

Mary,  from  her  vantage  point  at  the  desk  across 
from  him,  smiled  a  smile  that  would  have  been  very  en 
gaging  to  any  man  under  more  favorable  circumstances, 
and  she  pushed  in  his  direction  the  telephone  that  stood 
there. 

"3100,  Spring,"  she  remarked,  encouragingly,  "will 
bring  an  officer  almost  immediately."  She  leaned  back 
in  her  chair,  and  surveyed  the  baffled  man  amusedly. 

The  lawyer  was  furious  over  the  failure  of  his  effort 
to  intimidate  this  extraordinarily  self-possessed  young 
woman,  who  made  a  mock  of  his  every  thrust.  But  he 
was  by  no  means  at  the  end  of  his  resources. 

"Nevertheless,"  he  rejoined,  "you  know  perfectly 
well  that  General  Hastings  never  promised  to  marry 
this  girl.  You  know "  He  broke  off  as  Aggie  en 
tered  the  drawing-room. 


126  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Now,  the  girl  was  demure  in  seeming  almost  beyond 
belief,  a  childish  creature,  very  fair  and  dainty,  guileless 
surely,  with  those  untroubled  eyes  of  blue,  those  softly 
curving  lips  of  warmest  red  and  the  more  delicate  bloom 
in  the  rounded  cheeks.  There  were  the  charms  of  inno 
cence  and  simplicity  in  the  manner  of  her  as  she  stopped 
just  within  the  doorway,  whence  she  regarded  Mary 
with  a  timid,  pleading  gaze,  her  slender  little  form 
poised  lightly  as  if  for  flight. 

"Did  you  want  me,  dear?"  she  asked.  There  was 
something  half-plaintive  in  the  modulated  cadences  of 
the  query. 

"Agnes,"  Mary  answered  affectionately,  "this  is  Mr. 
Irwin,  who  has  come  to  see  you  in  behalf  of  General 
Hastings." 

"Oh!"  the  girl  murmured,  her  voice  quivering  a  lit 
tle,  as  the  lawyer,  after  a  short  nod,  dropped  again  into 
his  seat;  "oh,  I'm  so  frightened  I"  She  hurried,  flutter 
ing,  to  a  low  stool  behind  the  desk,  beside  Mary's  chair, 
and  there  she  sank  down,  drooping  slightly,  and  catch 
ing  hold  of  one  of  Mary's  hands  as  if  in  mute  pleading 
for  protection  against  the  fear  that  beset  her  chaste 
soul. 

"Nonsense!"  Mary  exclaimed,  soothingly.  "There's 
really  nothing  at  all  to  be  frightened  about,  my  dear 
child."  Her  voice  was  that  with  which  one  seeks  to 
cajole  a  terrified  infant.  "You  mustn't  be  afraid,  Agnes. 
Mr.  Irwin  says  that  General  Hastings  did  not  promise 
to  marry  you.  Of  course,  you  understand,  my  dear,  that 
under  no  circumstances  must  you  say  anything  that  isn't 


MARKED  MONEY  127 

strictly  true,  and  that,  if  he  did  not  promise  to  marry 
you,  you  have  no  case — none  at  all.  Now,  Agnes,  tell 
rne:  did  General  Hastings  promise  to  marry  you?" 

"Oh,  yes — oh,  yes,  indeed!"  Aggie  cried,  falteringly. 
"And  I  wish  he  would.  He's  such  a  delightful  old  gen 
tleman  !"  As  she  spoke,  the  girl  let  go  Mary's  hand 
and  clasped  her  own  together  ecstatically. 

The  legal  representative  of  the  delightful  old  gen 
tleman  scowled  disgustedly  at  this  outburst.  His  voice 
was  portentous,  as  he  put  a  question. 

"Was  that  promise  made  in  writing?" 

"No,"  Aggie  answered,  gushingly.  "But  all  his  let 
ters  were  in  writing,  you  know.  Such  wonderful  let 
ters!"  She  raised  her  blue  eyes  toward  the  ceiling  in 
a  naive  rapture.  "So  tender,  and  so — er — interesting!" 
Somehow,  the  inflection  on  the  last  word  did  not  alto 
gether  suggest  the  ingenuous. 

"Yes,  yes,  I  dare  say,"  Irwin  agreed,  hastily,  with 
some  evidences  of  chagrin.  He  had  no  intention  of 
dwelling  on  that  feature  of  the  letters,  concerning  which 
he  had  no  doubt  whatsoever,  since  he  knew  the  amor 
ous  General  very  well  indeed.  They  would  be  inter 
esting,  beyond  shadow  of  questioning,  horribly  inter 
esting.  Such  was  the  confessed  opinion  of  the  swain 
himself  who  had  written  them  in  his  folly — horribly 
interesting  to  all  the  reading  public  of  the  country,  since 
the  General  was  a  conspicuous  figure. 

Mary  intervened  with  a  suavity  that  infuriated  the 
lawyer  almost  beyond  endurance. 

"But  you're  quite  sure,  Agnes,"  she  questioned  gently, 


128  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"that  General  Hastings  did  promise  to  marry  you?" 
The  candor  of  her  manner  was  perfect. 

And  the  answer  of  Aggie  was  given  with  a  like  con 
vincing  emphasis. 

"Oh,  yes!"  she  declared,  tensely.  "Why,  I  would 
swear  to  it."  The  limpid  eyes,  so  appealing  in  their 
soft  lusters,  went  first  to  Mary,  then  gazed  trustingly 
into  those  of  the  routed  attorney. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Irwin,  she  would  swear  to  that,"  em 
phasized  Mary. 

"We're  beaten,"  he  confessed,  dejectedly,  turning  his 
glance  toward  Mary,  whom,  plainly,  he  regarded  as 
his  real  adversary  in  the  combat  on  his  client's  behalf. 
"I'm  going  to  be  quite  frank  with  you,  Miss  Turner, 
quite  frank,"  he  stated  with  more  geniality,  though  with 
a  very  crestfallen  air.  Somehow,  indeed,  there  was 
just  a  shade  too  much  of  the  crestfallen  in  the  fashion 
of  his  utterance,  and  the  woman  whom  he  addressed 
watched  warily  as  he  continued.  "We  can't  afford  any 
scandal,  so  we're  going  to  settle  at  your  own  terms." 
He  paused  expectantly,  but  Mary  offered  no  comment; 
only  maintained  her  alert  scrutiny  of  the  man.  The 
lawyer,  therefore,  leaned  forward  with  a  semblance  of 
frank  eagerness.  Instantly,  Aggie  had  become  agog 
with  greedily  blissful  anticipations,  and  she  uttered  a 
slight  ejaculation  of  joy;  but  Irwin  paid  no  heed  to  her. 
He  was  occupied  in  taking  from  his  pocket  a  thick  bill- 
case,  and  from  this  presently  a  sheaf  of  banknotes, 
which  he  laid  on  the  desk  before  Mary,  with  a  little 


MARKED  MONET  129 

laugh  of  discomfiture  over  having  been  beaten  in  the 
contest. 

As  he  did  so,  Aggie  thrust  forth  an  avaricious  hand, 
but  it  was  caught  and  held  by  Mary  before  it  reached 
above  the  top  of  the  desk,  and  the  avaricious  gesture 
passed  unobserved  by  the  attorney. 

"We  can't  fight  where  ladies  are  concerned,"  he  went 
on,  assuming,  as  best  he  might  contrive,  a  chivalrous 
tone.  "So,  if  you  will  just  hand  over  General  Hast 
ings'  letters,  why,  here's  your  money." 

Much  to  the  speaker's  surprise,  there  followed  an 
interval  of  silence,  and  his  puzzlement  showed  in  the 
knitting  of  his  brows.  "You  have  the  letters,  haven't 
you?"  he  demanded,  abruptly. 

Aggie  coyly  took  a  thick  bundle  from  its  resting  place 
on  her  rounded  bosom. 

"They  never  leave  me,"  she  murmured,  with  dulcet 
passion.  There  was  in  her  voice  a  suggestion  of  desola 
tion — a  desolation  that  was  the  blighting  effect  of  let 
ting  the  cherished  missives  go  from  her. 

"Well,  they  can  leave  you  now,  all  right,"  the  law 
yer  remarked  unsympathetically,  but  with  returning 
cheerfulness,  since  he  saw  the  end  of  his  quest  in  visible 
form  before  him.  He  reached  quickly  forward  for 
the  packet,  which  Aggie  extended  willingly  enough.  But 
it  was  Mary  who,  with  a  swift  movement,  caught  and 
held  it. 

"Not  qurte  yet,  Mr.  Irwin,  I'm  afraid,"  she  said, 
calmly. 


1 30  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

The  lawyer  barely  suppressed  a  violent  ejaculation 
of  annoyance. 

uBut  there's  the  money  waiting  for  you,"  he  pro 
tested,  indignantly. 

The  rejoinder  from  Mary  was  spoken  with  great  de 
liberation,  yet  with  a  note  of  determination  that  caused 
a  quick  and -acute  anxiety  to  the  General's  representa 
tive. 

"I  think,"  Mary  explained  tranquilly,  "that  you  had 
better  see  our  lawyer,  Mr.  Harris,  in  reference  to  this. 
We  women  know  nothing  of  such  details  of  business 
settlement." 

"Oh,  there's  no  need  for  all  that  formality,"  Irwin 
urged,  with  a  great  appearance  of  bland  friendliness. 

"Just  the  same,"  Mary  persisted,  unimpressed,  "I'm 
quite  sure  you  would  better  see  Mr.  Harris  first." 
There  was  a  cadence  of  insistence  in  her  voice  that  as 
sured  the  lawyer  as  to  the  futility  of  further  pretense 
on  his  part. 

"Oh,  I  see,"  he  said  disagreeably,  with  a  frown  to 
indicate  his  complete  sagacity  in  the  premises. 

"I  thought  you  would,  Mr.  Irwin,"  Mary  returned, 
and  now  she  smiled  in  a  kindly  manner,  which,  never 
theless,  gave  no  pleasure  to  the  chagrined  man  before 
her.  As  he  rose,  she  went  on  crisply:  "If  you'll  take  the 
money  to  Mr.  Harris,  Miss  Lynch  will  meet  you  in  his 
office  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon,  and,  when  her  suit 
for  damages  for  breach  of  promise  has  been  legally 
settled  out  of  court,  you  will  get  the  letters.  .  .  .  Good- 
afternoon,  Mr.  Irwin." 


MARKED  MONE  Y  131 

The  lawyer  made  a  hurried  bow  which  took  in  both  of 
the  women,  and  walked  quickly  toward  the  door.  But 
he  was  arrested  before  he  reached  it  by  the  voice  of 
Mary,  speaking  again,  still  in  that  imperturbable  even 
ness  which  so  rasped  his  nerves,  for  all  its  mellow 
resonance.  But  this  time  there  was  a  sting,  of  the 
sharpest,  in  the  words  themselves. 

"Oh,  you  forgot  your  marked  money,  Mr.  Irwin," 
Mary  said. 

The  lawyer  wheeled,  and  stood  staring  at  the  speak 
er  with  a  certain  sheepishness  of  expression  that  bore 
witness  to  the  completeness  of  his  discomfiture.  With 
out  a  word,  after  a  long  moment  in  which  he  perceived 
intently  the  delicate,  yet  subtly  energetic,  loveliness  of 
this  slender  woman,  he  walked  back  to  the  desk,  picked 
up  the  money,  and  restored  it  to  the  bill-case.  This 
done,  at  last  he  spoke,  with  a  new  respect  in  his  voice, 
a  quizzical  smile  on  his  rather  thin  lips. 

"Young  woman,"  he  said  emphatically,  "you  ought  to 
have  been  a  lawyer."  And  with  that  laudatory  confes 
sion  of  her  skill,  he  finally  took  his  departure,  while 
Mary  smiled  in  a  triumph  she  was  at  no  pains  to  con 
ceal,  and  Aggie  sat  gaping  astonishment  over  the  sur 
prising  turn  of  events. 

It  was  the  latter  volatile  person  who  ended  the  silence 
that  followed  on  the  lawyer's  going. 

"You've  darn  near  broke  my  heart,"  she  cried,  bounc 
ing  up  violently,  "letting  all  that  money  go  out  of  the 
house.  .  .  .  Say,  how  did  you  know  it  was  marked?" 

"I  didn't,"  Mary    replied,    blandly;  "but  it    was  a 


132  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

pretty  good  guess,  wasn't  it?  Couldn't  you  see  that 
all  he  wanted  was  to  get  the  letters,  and  have  us  take 
the  marked  money?  Then,  my  simple  young  friend, 
we  would  have  been  arrested  very  neatly  indeed — for 
blackmail." 

Aggie's  innocent  eyes  rounded  in  an  amazed  conster 
nation,  which  was  not  at  all  assumed. 

"Gee!"  she  cried.  "That  would  have  been  fierce  1 
And  now?"  she  questioned,  apprehensively. 

Mary's  answer  repudiated  any  possibility  of  fear. 

"And  now,"  she  explained  contentedly,  "he  really  will 
go  to  our  lawyer.  There,  he  will  pay  over  that  same 
marked  money.  Then,  he  will  get  the  letters  he  wants 
so  much.  And,  just  because  it's  a  strictly  business  trans 
action  between  two  lawyers,  with  everything  done  ac 
cording  to  legal  ethics " 

"What's  legal  ethics?"  Aggie  demanded,  impet 
uously.  "They  sound  some  tasty !"  With  the  comment, 
she  dropped  weakly  into  a  chair. 

Mary  laughed  in  care-free  enjoyment,  as  well  she 
might  after  winning  the  victory  in  such  a  battle  of  wits. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  happily,  "you  just  get  it  legally,  and 
you  get  twice  as  much !" 

"And  it's  actually  the  same  old  game !"  Aggie  mused. 
She  was  doing  her  best  to  get  a  clear  understanding  of 
the  matter,  though  to  her  it  was  all  a  mystery  most 
esoteric. 

Mary  reviewed  the  case  succinctly  for  the  other's 
enlightenment. 

"Yes,  it's  the  same  game  precisely,"   she  2 farmed. 


MARKED  MONEY  133 

"A  shameless  old  roue  makes  love  to  you,  and  he  writes 
you  a  stack  of  silly  letters." 

The  pouting  lips  of  the  listener  took  on  a  pathetic 
droop,  and  her  voice  quivered  as  she  spoke  with  an 
effective  semblance  of  virginal  terror. 

"He  might  have  ruined  my  life  I" 

Mary  continued  without  giving  much  attention  to 
these  histrionics. 

"If  you  had  asked  him  for  all  this  money  for 
the  return  of  his  letters,  it  would  have  been 
blackmail,  and  we'd  have  gone  to  jail  in  all  human 
probability.  But  we  did  no  such  thing — no,  indeed! 
What  we  did  wasn't  anything  like  that  in  the  eyes  of 
the  law.  What  we  did  was  merely  to  have  your  lawyer 
take  steps  toward  a  suit  for  damages  for  breach  of 
promise  of  marriage  for  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  dol 
lars.  Then,  his  lawyer  appears  in  behalf  of  General 
Hastings,  and  there  follow  a  number  of  conferences 
between  the  legal  representatives  of  the  opposing  par 
ties.  By  means  of  these  conferences,  the  two  legal  gen 
tlemen  run  up  very  respectable  bills  of  expenses.  In  the 
end,  we  get  our  ten  thousand  dollars,  and  the  flighty 
old  General  gets  back  his  letters.  .  .  .  My  dear,1*  Mary 
concluded  vaingloriously,  "we're  inside  the  law,  and  so 
we're  perfectly  safe.  And  there  you  arel" 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE  THIEF. 

Mary  remained  in  joyous  spirits  after  her  victorious 
matching  of  brains  against  a  lawyer  of  high  standing  in 
his  profession.  For  the  time  being,  conscience  was 
muted  by  gratified  ambition.  Her  thoughts  just  then 
were  far  from  the  miseries  of  the  past,  with  their  evil 
train  of  consequences  in  the  present.  But  that  past  was 
soon  to  be  recalled  to  her  with  a  vividness  most  ter 
rible. 

She  had  entered  the  telephone-booth,  which  she  had 
caused  to  be  installed  out  of  an  extra  closet  of  her  bed 
room  for  the  sake  of  greater  privacy  on  occasion,  and 
it  was  during  her  absence  from  the  drawing-room  that 
Garson  again  came  into  the  apartment,  seeking  her.  On 
being  told  by  Aggie  as  to  Mary's  whereabouts,  he  sat 
down  to  await  her  return,  listening  without  much  in 
terest  to  the  chatter  of  the  adventuress.  ...  It  was 
just  then  that  the  maid  appeared. 

"There's  a  girl  wants  to  see  Miss  Turner,"  she  ex 
plained. 

The  irrepressible  Aggie  put  on  her  most  finically  ele 
gant  air. 

"Has  she  a  card?"  she  inquired  haughtily,  while  the 
maid  tittered  appreciation. 

134 


THE  THIEF  135 

"No,"  was  the  answer.  "But  she  says  it's  import 
ant.  I  guess  the  poor  thing's  in  hard  luck,  from  the 
look  of  her,"  the  kindly  Fannie  added. 

"Oh,  then  she'll  be  welcome,  of  course,"  Aggie  de 
clared,  and  Garson  nodded  in  acquiescence.  "Tell  her 
to  come  in  and  wait,  Fannie.  Miss  Turner  will  be  here 
right  away."  She  turned  to  Garson  as  the  maid  left  the 
room.  "Mary  sure  is  an  easy  boob,"  she  remarked, 
cheerfully.  "Bless  her  soft  heart!" 

A  curiously  gentle  smile  of  appreciation  softened  the 
immobility  of  the  forger's  face  as  he  again  nodded 
assent. 

"We  might  just  as  well  pipe  off  the  skirt  before 
Mary  gets  here,"  Aggie  suggested,  with  eagerness. 

A  minute  later,  a  girl  perhaps  twenty  years  of  age 
stepped  just  within  the  doorway,  and  stood  there  .with 
eyes  downcast,  after  one  swift,  furtive  glance  about  her. 
Her  whole  appearance  was  that  of  dejection.  Her 
soiled  black  gown,  the  cringing  posture,  the  pallor  of 
her  face,  proclaimed  the  abject  misery  of  her  state. 

Aggie,  who  was  not  exuberant  in  her  sympathies  for 
any  one  other  than  herself,  addressed  the  newcomer  with 
a  patronizing  inflection,  modulated  in  her  best  manner. 

"Won't  you  come  in,  please?"  she  requested. 

The  shrinking  girl  shot  another  veiled  look  in  the 
direction  of  the  speaker. 

"Are  you  Miss  Turner?"  she  asked,  in  a  voice 
broken  by  nervous  dismay. 

"Really,  I  am  very  sorry,"  Aggie  replied,  primly; 


136  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

4 'but  I  am  only  her  cousin,  Miss  Agnes  Lynch.  But 
Miss  Turner  is  likely  to  be  back  any  minute  now." 

"Can  I  wait?'*  came  the  timid  question. 

"Certainly,"  Aggie  answered,  hospitably.  "Please  sit 
down." 

As  the  girl  obediently  sank  down  on  the  nearest  chair, 
Garson  addressed  her  sharply,  so  that  the  visitor  start 
ed  uneasily  at  the  unexpected  sound. 

"You  don't  know  Miss  Turner?" 

"No,"  came  the  faint  reply. 

"Then,  what  do  you  want  to  see  her  about?" 

There  was  a  brief  pause  before  the  girl  could  pluck 
up  courage  enough  for  an  answer.  Then,  it  was  spoken 
confusedly,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"She  once  helped  a  girl  friend  of  mine,  and  I 
thought — I  thought- " 

"You  thought  she  might  help  you,"  Garson  inter 
rupted. 

But  Aggie,  too,  possessed  some  perceptive  powers, 
despite  the  fact  that  she  preferred  to  use  them  little  in 
ordinary  affairs. 

"You  have  been  in  stir — prison,  I  mean."  She  hastily 
corrected  the  lapse  into  underworld  slang. 

Came  a  distressed  muttering  of  assent  from  the  girl. 

"How  sad!"  Aggie  remarked,  in  a  voice  of  shocked 
pity  for  one  so  inconceivably  unfortunate.  "How  very, 
very  sad!" 

This  ingenuous  method  of  diversion  was  put  to  an 
end  by  the  entrance  of  Mary,  who  stopped  short  on  see 
ing  the  limp  figure  huddled  in  the  chair. 


THE  THIEF  137 

"A  visitor,  Agnes  ?"  she  inquired. 

At  the  sound  of  her  voice,  and  before  Aggie  could 
hit  on  a  fittingly  elegant  form  of  reply,  the  girl  looked 
up.  And  now,  for  the  first  time,  she  spoke  with  some 
degree  of  energy,  albeit  there  was  a  sinister  undertone 
in  the  husky  voice. 

"You're  Miss  Turner  ?"  she  questioned. 

"Yes,"  Mary  said,  simply.  Her  words  rang  kindly; 
and  she  smiled  encouragement. 

A  gasp  burst  from  the  white  lips  of  the  girl,  and  she 
cowered  as  one  stricken  physically. 

"Mary  Turner!  Oh,  my  God!  I "  She  hid 

her  face  within  her  arms  and  sat  bent  until  her  head 
rested  on  her  knees  in  an  abasement  of  misery. 

Vaguely  startled  by  the  hysterical  outburst  from  the 
girl,  Mary's  immediate  thought  was  that  here  was  a 
pitiful  instance  of  one  suffering  from  starvation. 

"Joe,"  she  directed  rapidly,  "have  Fannie  bring  a 
glass  of  milk  with  an  egg  and  a  little  brandy  in  it,  right 
away." 

The  girl  in  the  chair  was  shaking  soundlessly  under 
the  stress  of  her  emotions.  A  few  disjointed  phrases 
fell  from  her  quivering  lips. 

"I  didn't  know— oh,  I  couldn't!" 

"Don't  try  to  talk  just  now,"  Mary  warned,  reassur 
ingly.  "Wait  until  you've  had  something  to  eat." 

Aggie,  who  had  observed  developments  closely,  now 
lifted  her  voice  in  tardy  lamentations  over  her  own 
stupidity.  There  was  no  affectation  of  the  fine  lady  in 
her  self-reproach. 


138  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Why,  the  poor  gawk's  hungry!"  she  exclaimed. 
"And  I  never  got  the  dope  on  her.  Ain't  I  the  simp  I" 

The  girl  regained  a  degree  of  self-control,  and  showed 
something  of  forlorn  dignity. 

"Yes,"  she  said  dully,  "I'm  starving." 

Mary  regarded  the  afflicted  creature  with  that  sym 
pathy  born  only  of  experience. 

"Yes,"  she  said  softly,  "I  understand."  Then  she 
spoke  to  Aggie.  "Take  her  to  my  room,  and  let  her 
rest  there  for  a  while.  Have  her  drink  the  egg  and  milk 
slowly,  and  then  lie  down  for  a  few  minutes  anyhow." 

Aggie  obeyed  with  an  air  of  bustling  activity. 

"Sure,  I  will!"  she  declared.  She  went  to  the  girl 
and  helped  her  to  stand  up.  "We'll  fix  you  out  all 
right,"  she  said,  comfortingly.  "Come  along  with  me. 
.  .  .  Hungry!  Gee,  but  that's  tough!" 
.  Half  an  hour  afterward,  while  Mary  was  at  her  desk, 
giving  part  of  her  attention  to  Joe  Garson,  who  sat 
near,  and  part  to  a  rather  formidable  pile  of  neatly  ar 
ranged  papers,  Aggie  reported  with  her  charge,  who, 
though  still  shambling  of  gait,  and  stooping,  showed 
by  some  faint  color  in  her  face  and  an  increased  steadi 
ness  of  bearing  that  the  food  had  already  strengthened 
her  much. 

"She  would  come,"  Aggie  explained.  "I  thought  she 
ought  to  rest  for  a  while  longer  anyhow."  She  half- 
shoved  the  girl  into  a  chair  opposite  the  desk,  in  an 
absurd  travesty  on  the  maternal  manner. 

"I'm  all  right,  I  tell  you,"  came  the  querulous  pro 
test. 


THE  THIEF  139 

Whereupon,  Aggie  gave  over  the  uncongenial  task 
of  mothering,  and  settled  herself  comfortably  in  a  chair, 
with  her  legs  merely  crossed  as  a  compromise  between 
ease  and  propriety. 

"Are  you  quite  sure?"  Mary  said  to  the  girl.  And 
then,  as  the  other  nodded  in  assent,  she  spoke  with  a 
compelling  kindliness.  "Then  you  must  tell  us  all  about 
it — this  trouble  of  yours,  you  know.  What  is  your 
name?" 

Once  again  the  girl  had  recourse  to  the  swift,  search 
ing,  furtive  glance,  but  her  voice  was  colorless  as  she 
replied,  listlessly: 

"Helen  Morris." 

Mary  regarded  the  girl  with  an  expression  that  was 
inscrutable  when  she  spoke  again. 

"I  don't  have  to  ask  if  you  have  been  in  prison,"  she 
said  gravely.  "Your  face  shows  it." 

"I — I  came  out — three  months  ago,"  was  the  halting 
admission. 

Mary  watched  the  shrinking  figure  reflectively  for  a 
long  minute  before  she  spoke  again.  Then  there  was  a 
deeper  resonance  in  her  voice. 

"And  you'd  made  up  your  mind  to  go  straight?" 

"Yes."    The  word  was  a  whisper. 

"You  were  going  to  do  what  the  chaplain  had  told 
you,"  Mary  went  on  in  a  voice  vibrant  with  varied  emo 
tions.  "You  were  going  to  start  all  over  again,  weren't 
you  ?  You  were  going  to  begin  a  new  life,  weren't  you  ?" 
The  bent  head  of  the  girl  bent  still  lower  in  assent. 
There  came  a  cynical  note  into  Mary's  utterance  now. 


WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"It  doesn't  work  very  well,  does  it?"  she  asked,  bit 
terly. 

The  girl  gave  sullen  agreement. 

"No,"  she  said  dully;  "I'm  whipped." 

Mary's  manner  changed  on  the  instant.  She  spoke 
cheerfully  for  the  first  time. 

"Well,  then,"  she  questioned,  "how  would  you  like 
to  work  with  us?" 

The  girl  looked  up  for  a  second  with  another  of  her 
fleeting,  stealthy  glances. 

"You — you  mean  that ?" 

Mary  explained  her  intention  in  the  matter  very  ex 
plicitly.  Her  voice  grew  boastful. 

"Our  kind  of  work  pays  well  when  you  know  how. 
Look  at  us." 

Aggie  welcomed  the  opportunity  for  speech,  too  long 
delayed. 

"Hats  from  Joseph's,  gowns  from  Lucile's,  and 
cracked  ice  from  Tiffany's.  But  it  ain't  ladylike  to  wear 
it,"  she  concluded  with  a  reproachful  glance  at  her  men 
tor. 

Mary  disregarded  the  frivolous  interruption,  and  went 
on  speaking  to  the  girl,  and  now  there  was  something 
pleasantly  cajoling  in  her  manner. 

"Suppose  I  should  stake  you  for  the  present,  and  put 
you  in  with  a  good  crowd.  All  you  would  have  to  do 
would  be  to  answer  advertisements  for  servant  girls.  I 
will  see  that  you  have  the  best  of  references.  Then, 
when  you  get  in  with  the  right  people,  you  will  open  the 
front  door  some  night  and  let  in  the  gang.  Of  course, 


THE  THIEF  141 

you  will  make  a  get-away  when  they  do,  and  get  your 
bit  as  well." 

There  flashed  still  another  of  the  swift,  sly  glances, 
and  the  lips  of  the  girl  parted  as  if  she  would  speak. 
But  she  did  not;  only,  her  head  sagged  even  lower  on 
her  breast,  and  the  shrunken  form,  grew  yet  more 
shrunken.  Mary,  watching  closely,  saw  these  signs, 
and  in  the  same  instant  a  change  came  over  her.  Where 
before  there  had  been  an  underlying  suggestion  of  hard 
ness,  there  was  now  a  womanly  warmth  of  genuine 
sympathy. 

"It  doesn't  suit  you?"  she  said,  very  softly.  "Good! 
I  was  in  hopes  it  wouldn't.  So,  here's  another  plan." 
Her  voice  had  become  very  winning.  "Suppose  you 
could  go  West — some  place  where  you  would  have  a 
fair  chance,  with  money  enough  so  you  could  live  like 
a  human  being  till  you  got  a  start?" 

There  came  a  tensing  of  the  relaxed  form,  and  the 
head  lifted  a  little  so  that  the  girl  could  look  at  her 
questioner.  And,  this  time,  the  glance,  though  of  the 
briefest,  was  less  furtive. 

"I  will  give  you  that  chance,"  Mary  said  simply,  "if 
you  really  want  it." 

That  speech  was  like  a  current  of  strength  to  the 
wretched  girl.  She  sat  suddenly  erect,  and  her  words 
came  eagerly. 

"Oh,  I  do !"  And  now  her  hungry  gaze  remained 
fast  on  the  face  of  the  woman  who  offered  her  salva 
tion. 

Mary  sprang  up  and  moved  a  step  toward  the  girl 


1 42  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

who  continued  to  stare  at  her,  fascinated.  She  was 
now  all  wholesome.  The  memory  of  her  own  wrongs 
surged  in  her  during  this  moment  only  to  make  her  more 
appreciative  of  the  blessedness  of  seemly  life.  She  was 
moved  to  a  divine  compassion  over  this  waif  for  whom 
she  might  prove  a  beneficent  providence.  There  was 
profound  conviction  in  the  emphasis  with  which  she 
spoke  her  warning. 

"Then  I  have  just  one  thing  to  say  to  you  first.  If 
you  are  going  to  live  straight,  start  straight,  and  then 
go  through  with  it.  Do  you  know  what  that  means?" 

"You  mean,  keep  straight  all  the  time?"  The  girl 
spoke  with  a  force  drawn  from  the  other's  strength. 

"I  mean  more  than  that,"  Mary  went  on  earnestly. 
"I  mean,  forget  that  you  were  ever  in  prison.  I  don't 
know  what  you  have  done — I  don't  think  I  care.  But 
whatever  it  was,  you  have  paid  for  it — a  pretty  big 
price,  too."  Into  these  last  words  there  crept  the  pathos 
of  one  who  knew.  The  sympathy  of  it  stirred  the  lis 
tener  to  fearful  memories. 

"I  have,  I  have!"    The  thin  voice  broke,  wailing. 

"Well,  then,"  Mary  went  on,  "just  begin  all  over 
again,  and  be  sure  you  stand  up  for  your  rights.  Don't 
let  them  make  you  pay  a  second  time.  Go  where  no 
one  knows  you,  and  don't  tell  the  first  people  who  are 
kind  to  you  that  you  have  been  crooked.  If  they  think 
you  are  straight,  why,  be  it.  Then  nobody  will  have  any 
right  to  complain."  Her  tone  grew  suddenly  pleading. 
"Will  you  promise  me  this?" 


THE  THIEF  143 

"Yes,  I  promise,"  came  the  answer,  very  gravely, 
quickened  with  hope. 

"Good!"  Mary  exclaimed,  with  a  smile  of  approval. 
"Wait  a  minute,"  she  added,  and  left  the  room. 

"Huh!  Pretty  soft  for  some  people,"  Aggie  re 
marked  to  Garson,  with  a  sniff.  She  felt  no  alarm  lest 
she  wound  the  sensibilities  of  the  girl.  She  herself  had 
never  let  delicacy  interfere  between  herself  and  money. 
It  was  really  stranger  that  the  forger,  who  possessed  a 
more  sympathetic  nature,  did  not  scruple  to  speak  an 
assent  openly.  Somehow,  he  felt  an  inexplicable  preju 
dice  against  this  abject  recipient  of  Mary's  bounty, 
though  not  for  the  world  v/ould  he  have  checked  the 
generous  impulse  on  the  part  of  the  woman  he  so  re 
vered.  It  was  his  instinct  on  her  behalf  that  made  him 
now  vaguely  uneasy,  as  if  he  sensed  some  malign  in 
fluence  against  her  there  present  with  them. 

Mary  returned  soon.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a  roll 
of  bills.  She  went  to  the  girl  and  held  out  the  money. 
Her  voice  was  business-like  now,  but  very  kind. 

"Take  this.  It  will  pay  your  fare  West,  and  keep 
you  quite  a  while  if  you  are  careful." 

But,  without  warning,  a  revulsion  seized  on  the  girl. 
Of  a  sudden,  she  shrank  again,  and  turned  her  head 
away,  and  her  body  trembled. 

"I  can't  take  it,"  she  stammered.  "I  can't!    I  can't!" 

Mary  stood  silent  for  a  moment  from  sheer  amaze 
ment  over  the  change.  When  she  spoke,  her  voice  had 
hardened  a  little.  It  is  not  agreeable  to  have  one's 
beneficence  flouted. 


i44  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Didn't  you  come  here  for  help?"  she  demanded. 

uYes,"  was  the  faltering  reply,  "but— but— I  didn't 
know — it  was  you!"  The  words  came  with  a  rush  of 
desperation. 

"Then,  you  have  met  me  before?"  Mary  said,  quietly. 

"No,  no!"     The  girl's  voice  rose  shrill. 

Aggie  spoke  her  mind  with  commendable  frankness. 

"She's  lying." 

And,  once  again,  Garson  agreed.  His  yes  was  spoken- 
in  a  tone  of  complete  certainty.  That  Mary,  too,  was 
of  their  opinion  was  shown  in  her  next  words. 

"So,  you  have  met  me  before?    Where?" 

The  girl  unwittingly  made  confession  in  her  halting 
words. 

"I I  can't  tell  you."    There  was  despair  in  her  voice. 

"You  must."  Mary  spoke  with  seventy.  She  felt 
that  this  mystery  held  in  it  something  sinister  to  herself. 
"You  must,"  she  repeated  imperiously. 

The  girl  only  crouched  lower. 

"I  can't!"  she  cried  again.  She  was  panting  as  if  in 
exhaustion. 

"Why  can't  you?"  Mary  insisted.  She  had  no  sym 
pathy  now  for  the  girl's  distress,  merely  a  great  sus 
picious  curiosity. 

"Because— because "    The  girl  could  not  go  on. 

Mary's  usual  shrewdness  came  to  her  aid,  and  she 
put  her  next  question  in  a  different  direction. 

"What  were  you  sent  up  for?"  she  asked  briskly. 
"Tell  me." 

It  was  Garson  who  broke  the  silence  that  followed. 


THE  THIEF  145 

"Come  on,  now !"  he  ordered.  There  was  a  savage 
note  in  his  voice  under  which  the  girl  visibly  winced. 
Mary  made  a  gesture  toward  him  that  he  should  not 
interfere.  Nevertheless,  the  man's  command  had  in  it 
a  threat  which  the  girl  could  not  resist  and  she  an 
swered,  though  with  a  reluctance  that  made  the  words 
seem  dragged  from  her  by  some  outside  force — as  in 
deed  they  were. 

"For  stealing." 

"Stealing  what?"  Mary  said. 

"Goods." 

"Where  from?" 

A  reply  came  in  a  breath  so  low  that  it  was  barely 
audible. 

"The  Emporium." 

In  a  flash  of  intuition,  the  whole  truth  was  revealed 
to  the  woman  who  stood  looking  down  at  the  cowering 
creature  before  her. 

"The  Emporium!"  she  repeated.  There  was  a  trag 
edy  in  the  single  word.  Her  voice  grew  cold  with  hate, 
the  hate  born  of  innocence  long  tortured.  "Then  you 
are  the  one  who " 

The  accusation  was  cut  short  by  the  girl's  shriek. 

"I  am  not!     I  am  not,  I  tell  you." 

For  a  moment,  Mary  lost  her  poise.  Her  voice  rose 
in  a  flare  of  rage. 

"You  are!    You  are!" 

The  craven  spirit  of  the  girl  could  struggle  no  more. 
She  could  only  sit  in  a  huddled,  shaking  heap  of  dread. 
The  woman  before  her  had  been  disciplined  by  sorrow 


146  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

to  sternest  self-control.  Though  racked  by  emotions 
most  intolerable,  Mary  soon  mastered  their  expression 
to  such  an  extent  that  when  she  spoke  again,  as  if  in  self- 
communion,  her  words  came  quietly,  yet  with  overtones 
of  a  supreme  wo. 

"She  did  it!"  Then,  after  a  little,  she  addressed  the 
girl  with  a  certain  wondering  before  this  mystery  of 
horror.  "Why  did  you  throw  the  blame  on  me?" 

The  girl  made  several  efforts  before  her  mumbling 
became  intelligible,  and  then  her  speech  was  gasping, 
broken  with  fear. 

"I  found  out  they  were  watching  me,  and  I  was 
afraid  they  would  catch  me.  So,  I  took  them  and  ran 
into  the  cloak-room,  and  put  them  in  a  locker  that  wasn't 
close  to  mine,  and  some  in  the  pocket  of  a  coat  that  was 
hanging  there.  God  knows  I  didn't  know  whose  it 
was.  I  just  put  them  there — I  was  frightened " 

"And  you  let  me  go  to  prison  for  three  years!" 
There  was  a  menace  in  Mary's  voice  under  which  the 
girl  cringed  again. 

"I  was  scared,"  she  whined.     "I  didn't  dare  to  tell." 

"But  they  caught  you  later,"  Mary  went  on  inexor 
ably.  "Why  didn't  you  tell  then?" 

"I  was  afraid,"  came  the  answer  from  the  shudder 
ing  girl.  "I  told  them  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  taken 
anything  and  they  let  me  off  with  a  year." 

Once  more,  the  wrath  of  the  victim  flamed  high. 

"You!"  Mary  cried.  "You  cried  and  lied,  and  they 
let  you  off  with  a  year.  I  wouldn't  cry.  I  told  the  truth 
... — and "  Her  voice  broke  in  a  tearless  sob.  The 


I  LL^  NEVER   FORGIVE   MYSELF,  ...  NEVER",   SHE    MOANED.     "OH,   YES, 
WILL",  MARY  SAID.    "PEOPLE  FORGIVE  THEMSELVES  PRETTY  EASILY." 


you 


; « /«      .  : .  • 

•  • 


'    .    v    .         ;     •         .  / 


THE  THIEF  147 

color  had  gone  out  of  her  face,  and  she  stood  rigid, 
looking  down  at  the  girl  whose  crime  had  ruined  her 
life  with  an  expression  of  infinite  loathing  in  her  eyes. 
Garson  rose  from  his  chair  as  if  to  go  to  her,  and  his 
face  passed  swiftly  from  compassion  to  ferocity  as  his 
gaze  went  from  the  woman  he  had  saved  from  the  river 
to  the  girl  who  had  been  the  first  cause  of  her  seeking 
a  grave  in  the  waters.  Yet,  though  he  longed  with 
every  fiber  of  him  to  comfort  the  stricken  woman,  he 
did  not  dare  intrude  upon  her  in  this  time  of  her  an 
guish,  but  quietly  dropped  back  into  his  seat  and  sat 
watching  with  eyes  now  tender,  now  baleful,  as  they 
shifted  their  direction. 

Aggie  took  advantage  of  the  pause.  Her  voice  was 
acid. 

"Some  people  are  sneaks — just  sneaks!" 

Somehow,  the  speech  was  welcome  to  the  girl,  gave 
her  a  touch  of  courage  sufficient  for  cowardly  protesta 
tions.  It  seemed  to  relieve  the  tension  drawn  by  the 
other  woman's  torment.  It  was  more  like  the  abuse 
that  was^  familiar  to  her.  A  gush  of  tears  came. 

"I'll  never  forgive  myself,  never!"  she  moaned. 

Contempt  mounted  in  Mary's  breast. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,"  she  said,  malevolently.  "Peo 
ple  forgive  themselves  pretty  easily."  The  contempt 
checked  for  a  little  the  ravages  of  her  grief.  "Stop 
crying,"  she  commanded  harshly.  "Nobody  is  going  to 
hurt  you."  She  thrust  the  money  again  toward  the  girl, 
and  crowded  it  into  the  half-reluctant,  half-greedy  hand. 


i48  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Take  it,  and  get  out."     The  contempt  in  her  voice 
rang  still  sharper,  mordant. 

Even  the  puling  creature  writhed  under  the  lash  of 
Mary's  tones.  She  sprang  up,  slinking  back  a  step. 

"I  can't  take  it !"  she  cried,  whimpering.  But  she  did 
not  drop  the  money. 

"Take  the  chance  while  you  have  it,"  Mary  coun 
seled,  still  with  the  contempt  that  pierced  even  the  hard 
ened  girl's  sense  of  selfishness.  She  pointed  toward 
the  door.  "Go ! — before  I  change  my  mind." 

The  girl  needed,  indeed,  no  second  bidding.  With 
the  money  still  clutched  in  her  hand,  she  went  forth 
swiftly,  stumbling  a  little  in  her  haste,  fearful  lest,  at 
the  last  moment,  the  woman  she  had  so  wronged  should 
in  fact  change  in  mood,  take  back  the  money — ay,  even 
give  her  over  to  that  terrible  man  with  the  eyes  of  hate, 
to  put  her  to  death  as  she  deserved. 

Freed  from  the  miasma  of  that  presence,  Mary  re 
mained  motionless  for  a  long  minute,  then  sighed 
from  her  tortured  heart.  She  turned  and  went  slowly 
to  her  chair  at  the  desk,  and  seated  herself  languidly, 
weakened  by  the  ordeal  through  which  she  had  passed. 

"A  girl  I  didn't  know!"  she  said,  bewilderedly; 
"perhaps  had  never  spoken  to — who  smashed  my  life 
like  that!  Oh,  if  it  wasn't  so  awful,  it  would  be — 
funny!  It  would  be  funny!"  A  gust  of  hysterical 
laughter  burst  from  her.  "Why,  it  is  funny !"  she  cried, 
wildly.  "It  is  funny!" 

*4Mary!"    Garson    exclaimed  sharply.      He    leaped 


THE  THIEF  149 

across  the  room  to  face  her.     "That's  no  good!"  he 
said  severely. 

Aggie,  too,  rushed  forward. 

"No  good  at  all!"  she  declared  loudly. 
>  The  interference  recalled  the  distressed  woman  to 
herself.  She  made  a  desperate  effort  for  self-command. 
Little  by  little,  the  unmeaning  look  died  down,  and 
presently  she  sat  silent  and  moveless,  staring  at  the  two 
with  stormy  eyes  out  of  a  wan  face. 

"You  were  right,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  lifeless  voice. 
"It's  done,  and  can't  be  undone.  I  was  a  fool  to  let  it 
affect  me  like  that.  I  really  thought  I  had  lost  all  feel 
ing  about  it,  but  the  sight  of  that  girl— the  knowledge 
that  she  had  done  it — brought  it  all  back  to  me.  Well, 
you  understand,  don't  you?" 

"We  understand,"  Garson  said,  grimly.  But  there 
was  more  than  grimness,  infinitely  more,  in  the  expres 
sion  of  his  clear,  glowing  eyes. 

Aggie  thought  that  it  was  her  turn  to  voice  herself, 
which  she  did  without  undue  restraint. 

"Perhaps,  we  do,  but  I  dunno !  I'll  tell  you  one  thing, 
though.  If  any  dame  sent  me  up  for  three  years  and 
then  wanted  money  from  me,  do  you  think  she'd  get  it? 
Wake  me  up  any  time  in  the  night  and  ask  me.  Not 
much — not  a  little  bit  much!  I'd  hang  on  to  it  like 
an  old  woman  to  her  last  tooth."  And  that  was  Aggie's 
final  summing  up  of  her  impressions  concerning  the 
scene  she  had  just  witnessed. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  BRIDEGROOM   SPURNED. 

After  Aggie's  vigorous  comment  theie  followed  a, 
long  silence.  That  volatile  young  person,  little  troubled 
as  she  was  by  sensitiveness,  guessed  the  fact  that  just 
now  further  discussion  of  the  event  would  be  distaste 
ful  to  Mary,  and  so  she  betook  herself  discreetly  to  a 
cigarette  and  the  illustrations  of  a  popular  magazine 
devoted  to  the  stage.  As  for  the  man,  his  reticence  was 
really  from  a  fear  lest  in  speaking  at  all  he  might  speak 
too  freely,  might  betray  the  pervasive  violence  of  his 
feeling.  So,  he  sat  motionless  and  wordless,  his  eyes 
carefully  avoiding  Mary  in  order  that  she  might  not  be 
disturbed  by  the  invisible  vibrations  thus  sent  from  one 
to  another.  Mary  herself  was  shaken  to  the  depths.  A 
great  weariness,  a  weariness  that  cried  the  worthless- 
ness  of  all  things,  had  fallen  upon  her.  It  rested  leaden 
on  her  soul.  It  weighed  down  her  body  as  well,  though 
that  mattered  little  indeed.  Yet,  since  she  could  minis 
ter  to  that  readily,  she  rose  and  went  to  a  settee  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room  where  she  arranged  herself 
among  the  cushions  in  a  posture  more  luxurious  than 
her  rather  precise  early  training  usually  permitted  her 
to  assume  in  the  presence  of  others.  There  she  rested, 
and  soon  felt  the  tides  of  energy  again  flowing  in  her 

150 


A  BRIDEGROOM  SPURNED  151 

blood,  and  that  same  vitality,  too,  wrought  healing  even 
for  her  agonized  soul,  though  more  slowly.  The  per 
fect  health  of  her  gave  her  strength  to  recover  speedily 
from  the  shock  she  had  sustained.  It  was  this  health 
that  made  the  glory  of  the  flawless  skin,  white  with  a 
living  white  that  revealed  the  coursing  blood  beneath, 
and  the  crimson  lips  that  bent  in  smiles  so  tender,  or  so 
wistful,  and  the  limpid  eyes  in  which  always  lurked  fires 
that  sometimes  burst  into  flame,  the  lustrous  mass  of 
undulating  hair  that  sparkled  in  the  sunlight  like  an 
aureole  to  her  face  or  framed  it  in  heavy  splendors  with 
its  shadows,  and  the  supple  erectness  of  her  graceful 
carriage,  the  lithe  dignity  of  her  every  movement. 

But,  at  last,  she  stirred  uneasily  and  sat  up.  Garson 
accepted  this  as  a  sufficient  warrant  for  speech. 

"You  know — Aggie  told  you — that  Cassidy  was  up 
here  from  Headquarters.  He  didn't  put  a  name  to  it,  but 
I'm  on."  Mary  regarded  him  inquiringly,  and  he  con 
tinued,  putting  the  fact  with  a  certain  brutal  bluntness 
after  the  habit  of  his  class.  "I  guess  you'll  have  to  quit 
seeing  young  Gilder.  The  bulls  are  wise.  His  father 
has  made  a  holler. 

"Don't  let  that  worry  you,  Joe,"  she  said  tranquilly. 
She  allowed  a  few  seconds  go  by,  then  added  as  if  quite 
indifferent:  "I  was  married  to  Dick  Gilder  this  morn 
ing."  There  came  a  squeal  of  amazement  from  Aggie, 
a  start  of  incredulity  from  Garson. 

"Yes,"  Mary  repeated  evenly,  "I  was  married  to  him 
this  morning.  That  was  my  important  engagement," 
she  added  with  a  smile  toward  Aggie.  For  some  intuL- 


152  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

tive  reason,  mysterious  to  herself,  she  did  not  care  to 
meet  the  man's  eyes  at  that  moment. 

Aggie  sat  erect,  her  baby  face  alive  with  worldly 
glee. 

"My  Gawd,  what  luck!"  she  exclaimed  noisily. 
"Why,  he's  a  king  fish,  he  is.  Gee !  But  I'm  glad  you 
landed  him !" 

"Thank  you,"  Mary  said  with  a  smile  that  was  the 
result  of  her  sense  of  humor  rather  than  from  any  ten 
derness. 

It  was  then  that  Garson  spoke.  He  was  a  delicate 
man  in  his  sensibilities  at  times,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
he  followed  devious  methods  in  his  manner  of  gaining 
a  livelihood.  So,  now,  he  put  a  question  of  vital  sig 
nificance. 

"Do  you  love  him?" 

The  question  caught  Mary  all  unprepared,  but  she 
retained  her  self-control  sufficiently  to  make  her  answer 
in  a  voice  that  to  the  ordinary  ear  would  have  revealed 
no  least  tremor. 

"No,"  she  said.  She  offered  no  explanation,  no  ex 
cuse,  merely  stated  the  fact  in  all  its  finality. 

Aggie  was  really  shocked,  though  for  a  reason  alto 
gether  sordid,  not  one  whit  romantic. 

"Ain't  he  young?"  she  demanded  aggressively. 
"Ain't  he  good-looking,  and  loose  with  his  money  some 
thing  scandalous?  If  I  met  up  with  a  fellow  as  liberal 
as  him,  if  he  was  three  times  his  age,  I  could  simply 
adore  him!" 

It  was  Garson  who  pressed  the  topic  with  an  inexor- 


A  BRIDEGROOM  SPURNED  153 

able  curiosity  born  of  his  unselfish  interest  in  the  woman 
concerned. 

"Then,  why  did  you  marry  him?"  he  asked.  The 
sincerity  of  him  was  excuse  enough  for  the  seeming  in 
delicacy  of  the  question.  Besides,  he  felt  himself  some 
how  responsible.  He  had  given  back  to  her  the  gift  of 
life,  which  she  had  rejected.  Surely,  he  had  the  right 
to  know  the  truth. 

It  seemed  that  Mary  believed  her  confidence  his  due, 
for  she  told  him  the  fact. 

"I  have  been  working  and  scheming  for  nearly  a  year 
to  do  it,"  she  said,  with  a  hardening  of  her  face  that 
spoke  of  indomitable  resolve.  "Now,  it's  done."  A 
vindictive  gleam  shot  from  her  violet  eyes  as  she  added: 
"It's  only  the  beginning,  too." 

Garson,  with  the  keen  perspicacity  that  had  made  him 
a  successful  criminal  without  a  single  conviction  to  mar 
his  record,  had  seized  the  implication  in  her  statement, 
and  now  put  it  in  words. 

"Then,  you  won't  leave  us?  We're  going  on  as  we 
were  before?"  The  hint  of  dejection  in  his  manner 
had  vanished.  "And  you  won't  live  with  him?" 

"Live  with  him?"  Mary  exclaimed  emphatically. 
"Certainly  not!" 

Aggie's  neatly  rounded  jaw  dropped  in  a  gape  of  sur<< 
prise  that  was  most  unladylike. 

"You  are  going  to  live  on  in  this  joint  with  us?"  she 
questioned,  aghast. 

"Of  course."  The  reply  was  given  with  the  utmost 
of  certainty. 


154  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Aggie  presented  the  crux  of  the  matter. 

"Where  will  hubby  live?" 

There  was  no  lessening  of  the  bride's  composure  as 
she  replied,  with  a  little  shrug. 

"Anywhere  but  here." 

Aggie  suddenly  giggled.  To  her  sense  of  humor 
there  was  something  vastly  diverting  in  this  new  scheme 
of  giving  bliss  to  a  fond  husband. 

"Anywhere  but  here,"  she  repeated  gaily.  "Oh,  won't 
that  be  nice — for  him?  Oh,  yes!  Oh,  quite  so!  Oh, 
yes,  indeed — quite  so — so!" 

Garson,  however,  was  still  patient  in  his  determina 
tion  to  apprehend  just  what  had  come  to  pass. 

"Does  he  understand  the  arrangement?"  was  his  ques 
tion. 

"No,  not  yet,"  Mary  admitted,  without  sign  of  em 
barrassment. 

"Well,"  Aggie  said,  with  another  giggle,  "when  you 
do  get  around  to  tell  him,  break  it  to  him  gently." 

Garson  was  intently  considering  another  phase  of  the 
situation,  one  suggested  perhaps  out  of  his  own  deeper 
sentiments. 

"He  must  think  a  lot  of  you!"  he  said,  gravely. 
"Don't  he?" 

For  the  first  time,  Mary  was  moved  to  the  display 
of  a  slight  confusion.  She  hesitated  a  little  before  her 
answer,  and  when  she  spoke  it  was  in  a  lower  key,  a 
little  more  slowly. 

"I — I  suppose  so." 


A  BRIDEGROOM  SPURNED  155 

Aggie  presented  the  truth  more  subtly  than  could  have 
been  expected  from  her. 

"Think  a  lot  of  you?  Of  course  he  does!  Thinks 
enough  to  marry  you !  And  believe  me,  kid,  when  a 
man  thinks  enough  of  you  to  marry  you,  well,  that's 
some  thinking!" 

Somehow,  the  crude  expression  of  this  professional 
adventuress  penetrated  to  Mary's  conscience,  though 
it  held  in  it  the  truth  to  which  her  conscience  bore  wit 
ness,  to  which  she  had  tried  to  shut  her  ears.  .  .  .  And 
now  from  the  man  came  something  like  a  draught  of 
elixir  to  her  conscience — like  the  trump  of  doom  to  her 
scheme  of  vengeance. 

Garson  spoke  very  softly,  but  with  an  intensity  that 
left  no  doubt  as  to  the  honesty  of  his  purpose. 

"I'd  say,  throw  up  the  whole  game  and  go  to  him,  if 
you  really  care." 

There  fell  a  tense  silence.  It  was  broken  by  Mary 
herself.  She  spoke  with  a  touch  of  haste,  as  if  battling 
against  some  hindrance  within. 

"I  married  him  to  get  even  with  his  father,"  she  said. 
"That's  all  there  is  to  it.  ...  By  the  way,  I  expect 
Dick  wTill  be  here  in  a  minute  or  two.  When  he  comes, 
just  remember  not  to — enlighten  him." 

Aggie  sniffed  indignantly. 

"Don't  worry  about  me,  not  a  mite.  Whenever  it's 
really  wanted,  I'm  always  there  with  a  full  line  of  that 
lady  stuff."  Thereupon,  she  sprang  up,  and  proceeded 
to  give  her  conception  of  the  proper  welcoming  of  the 
happy  bridegroom.  The  performance  was  amusing 


156  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

enough  in  itself,  but  for  some  reason  it  moved  neither 
of  the  two  for  whom  it  was  rendered  to  more  than  per 
functory  approval.  The  fact  had  no  depressing  effect 
on  the  performer,  however,  and  it  was  only  the  coming 
of  the  maid  that  put  her  lively  sallies  to  an  end. 

"Mr.  Gilder,"  Fannie  announced. 

Mary  put  a  question  with  so  much  of  energy  that 
Garson  began  finally  to  understand  the  depth  of  her 
vindictive  feeling. 

"Any  one  with  him?" 

"No,  Miss  Turner,"  the  maid  answered. 

"Have  him  come  in,"  Mary  ordered. 

Garson  felt  that  he  would  be  better  away  for  the 
sake  of  the  newly  married  pair  at  least,  if  not  for  his 
own.  He  made  hasty  excuses  and  went  out  on  the  heels 
of  the  maid.  Aggie,  however,  consulting  only  her  own 
wishes  in  the  matter,  had  no  thought  of  flight,  and,  if 
the  truth  be  told,  Mary  was  glad  of  the  sustaining  pres 
ence  of  another  woman. 

She  got  up  slowly,  and  stood  silent,  while  Aggie 
regarded  her  curiously.  Even  to  the  insensitive  observ 
er,  there  was  something  strange  in  the  atmosphere.  .  .  , 
A  moment  later  the  bridegroom  entered. 

He  was  still  clean-cut  and  wholesome.  Some  sons  of 
wealthy  fathers  are  not,  after  four  years  experience  of 
the  white  lights  of  town.  And  the  lines  of  his  face  were 
firmer,  better  in  every  way.  It  seemed,  indeed,  that  here 
was  some  one  of  a  resolute  character,  not  to  be  wasted 
on  the  trivial  and  gross  things.  In  an  instant,  he  had 
gone  to  her,  had  caught  her  in  his  arms  with,  "Hello, 


A  BRIDEGROOM  SPURNED  157 

dear!"   smothered  in   the  kiss  he   implanted  on   her 
lips. 

Mary  strove  vainly  to  free  herself. 

"Don't,  oh,  don't!"  she  gasped. 

Dick  Gilder  released  his  wife  from  his  arms  and 
smiled  the  beatific  smile  of  the  newly-wed. 

"Why  not?"  he  demanded,  with  a  smile,  a  smile  calm, 
triumphant,  masterful. 

"Agnes!"  ...  It  was  the  sole  pretext  to  which 
Mary  could  turn  for  a  momentary  relief. 

The  bridegroom  faced  about,  and  perceived  Agnes, 
who  stood  closely  watching  the  meeting  between  hus 
band  and  wife.  He  made  an  excellent  formal  bow  of 
the  sort  that  one  learns  only  abroad,  and  spoke  quietly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Lynch,  but" — a  smile  of 
perfect  happiness  shone  on  his  face — "you  could  hardly 
expect  me  to  see  any  one  but  Mary  under  the  circum 
stances.  Could  you?" 

Aggie  strove  to  rise  to  this  emergency,  and  again  took 
on  her  best  manner,  speaking  rather  coldly. 

"Under  what  circumstances?"  she  inquired. 

The  young  man  exclaimed  joyously. 

"Why,  we  were  married  this  morning." 

Aggie  accepted  the  news  with  fitting  excitement. 

"Goodness  gracious!    How  perfectly  lovely!" 

The  bridegroom  regarded  her  with  a  face  that  was 
luminous  of  delight. 

"You  bet,  it's  lovely!"  he  declared  with  entire  con 
viction.  He  turned  to  Mary,  his  face  glowing  with  sat 
isfaction. 


I58  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Mary,"  he  said,  "I  have  the  honeymoon  trip  all 
fixed.  The  Mauretania  sails  at  five  in  the  morning,  so 
we  will » 

A  cold  voice  struck  suddenly  through  this  rhapso 
dizing.  It  was  that  of  the  bride. 

"Where  is  your  father?"  she  asked,  without  any  trace 
of  emotion. 

The  bridegroom  stopped  short,  and  a  deep  blush 
spread  itself  over  his  boyish  face.  His  tone  was  filled 
full  to  overflowing  with  compunction  as  he  answered. 

"Oh,  Lord!  I  had  forgotten  all  about  Dad."  He 
beamed  on  Mary  with  a  smile  half-ashamed,  half- 
happy.  "I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  said  earnestly.  "I'll 
tell  you  what  we'll  do.  We'll  send  Dad  a  wireless  from 
the  ship,  then  write  him  from  Paris." 

But  the  confident  tone  brought  no  response  of  agree 
ment  from  Mary.  On  the  contrary,  her  voice  was,  if 
anything,  even  colder  as  she  replied  to  his  suggestion. 
She  spoke  with  an  emphasis  that  brooked  no  evasion. 

"What  was  your  promise  ?    I  told  you  that  I  wouldn't 
go  with  you  until  you  had  brought  your  father  to  me, 
and  he  had  wished  us  happiness."       Dick  placed  his 
hands  gently  on  his  wife's  shoulders  and  regarded  her  , 
with  a  touch  of  indignation  in  his  gaze. 

"Mary,"  he  said  reproachfully,  "you  are  not  going  to 
hold  me  to  that  promise?" 

The  answer  was  given  with  a  decisiveness  that  ad 
mitted  of  no  question,  and  there  was  a  hardness  in  her 
face  that  emphasized  the  words. 

"I  am  going  to  hold  you  to  that  promise,  Dick." 


A  BRIDEGROOM  SPURNED  159 

For  a  few  seconds,  the  young  man  stared  at  her  with 
troubled  eyes.  Then  he  moved  impatiently,  and  dropped 
his  hands  from  her  shoulders.  But  his  usual  cheery 
smile  came  again,  and  he  shrugged  resignedly. 

"All  right,  Mrs.  Gilder,"  he  said,  gaily.  The  sound 
of  the  name  provoked  him  to  new  pleasure.  "Sounds 
fine,  doesn't  it?"  he  demanded,  with  an  uxorious  air. 

"Yes,"  Mary  said,  but  there  was  no  enthusiasm  in  her 
tone. 

The  husband  went  on  speaking  with  no  apparent  heed 
of  his  wife's  indifference. 

"You  pack  up  what  things  you  need,  girlie,"  he  di 
rected.  "Just  a  few — because  they  sell  clothes  in  Paris. 
And  they  are  some  class,  believe  me!  And  meantime, 
I'll  run  down  to  Dad's  office,  and  have  him  back  here 
in  half  an  hour.  You  will  be  all  ready,  won't  you?" 

Mary  answered  quickly,  with  a  little  catching  of  her 
breath,  but  still  coldly. 

"Yes,  yes,  I'll  be  ready.    Go  and  bring  your  father." 

"You  bet  I  will,"  Dick  cried  heartily.  He  would  have 
taken  her  in  his  arms  again,  but  she  evaded  the  caress. 
"What's  the  matter?"  he  demanded,  plainly  at  a  loss  to 
understand  this  repulse. 

"Nothing!"  was  the  ambiguous  answer. 

"Just  one!"  Dick  pleaded. 

"No,"  the  bride  replied,  and  there  was  determination 
in  the  monosyllable. 

It  was  evident  that  Dick  perceived  the  futility  of  ar 
gument. 

"For  a  married  woman  you  certainly  are  shy,"  he  re- 


160  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

plied,  with  a  sly  glance  toward  Aggie,  who  beamed  back 
sympathy.  "You'll  excuse  me,  won't  you,  Miss  Lynch? 
.  Good-by,  Mrs.  Gilder."  He  made  a  formal  bow 
to  his  wife.  As  he  hurried  to  the  door,  he  expressed 
again  his  admiration  for  the  name.  uMrs.  Gilder! 
Doesn't  that  sound  immense?"  And  with  that  he  was 

gone. 

There  was  silence  in  the  drawing-room  until  the  two 
women  heard  the  closing  of  the  outer  door  of  the  apart 
ment.  Then,  at  last,  Aggie  relieved  her  pent-up  emo 
tions  in  a  hugh  sigh  that  was  near  a  groan. 

"Oh  f-awd!"  she  gasped.    "The  poor  simp  1" 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  ADVENT  OF  GRIGGS. 

Later  on,  Garson,  learning  from  the  maid  that  Dick 
Gilder  had  left,  returned,  just  as  Mary  was  glancing 
over  the  release,  with  which  General  Hastings  was  to  be 
compensated,  along  with  the  return  of  his  letters,  for 
his  payment  of  ten  thousand  dollars  to  Miss  Agnes 
Lynch. 

"Hello,  Joe,"  Mary  said  graciously  as  the  forger  en 
tered.  Then  she  spoke  crisply  to  Agnes.  "And  now 
you  must  get  ready.  You  are  to  be  at  Harris's  office 
with  this  document  at  four  o'clock,  and  remember  that 
you  are  to  let  the  lawyer  manage  everything." 

Aggie  twisted  her  doll-like  face  into  a  grimace. 

"It  gets  my  angora  that  I'll  have  to  miss  Pa  Gilder's 
being  led  like  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter-house."  And 
that  was  the  nearest  the  little  adventuress  ever  came  to 
making  a  Biblical  quotation. 

"Anyhow,"  she  protested,  "I  don't  see  the  use  of  all 
this  monkey  business  here.  All  I  want  is  the  coin." 
But  she  hurried  obediently,  nevertheless,  to  get  ready 
for  the  start. 

Garson  regarded  Mary  quizzically. 

"It's  lucky  for  her  that  she  met  you,"  he  said.  "She's 
got  no  more  brains  than  a  gnat." 

161 


1 62  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"And  brains  are  mighty  useful  things,  even  in  our 
business,"  Mary  replied  seriously;  ''particularly  in  our 
business. " 

"I  should  say  they  were,"  Garson  agreed.  "You 
have  proved  that." 

Aggie  came  back,  putting  on  her  gloves,  and  cocking 
her  small  head  very  primly  under  the  enormous  hat  that 
was  garnished  with  costliest  plumes.  It  was  thus  that 
she  consoled  herself  in  a  measure  for  the  business  of 
the  occasion — in  lieu  of  cracked  ice  from  Tiffany's  at  one 
hundred  and  fifty  a  carat.  Mary  gave  over  the  release, 
and  Aggie,  still  grumbling,  deposited  it  in  her  handbag. 

"It  seems  to  me  we're  going  through  a  lot  of  red 
tape,"  she  said  spitefully. 

Mary,  from  her  chair  at  the  desk,  regarded  the  mal 
content  with  a  smile,  but  her  tone  was  crisp  as  she 
answered. 

"Listen,  Agnes.  The  last  time  you  tried  to  make  a 
man  give  up  part  of  his  money  it  resulted  in  your  going 
to  prison  for  two  years." 

Aggie  sniffed,  as  if  such  an  outcome  were  the  merest 
bagatelle. 

"But  that  way  was  so  exciting,"  she  urged,  not  at  all 
convinced. 

"And  this  way  is  so  safe,"  Mary  rejoined,  sharply. 
"Besides,  my  dear,  you  would  not  get  the  money.  My 
way  will.  Your  way  was  blackmail ;  mine  is  not.  Un 
derstand?" 

"Oh,  sure,"  Aggie  replied,  grimly,  on  her  way  to  the 
door.  "It's  clear  as  Pittsburgh."  With  that  sarcasm 


THE  ADVENT  OF  GRIGGS  163 

cllrected  against  legal  subtleties,  she  tripped  daintily 
out,  an  entirely  ravishing  vision,  if  somewhat  garish  as 
to  raiment,  and  soon  in  the  glances  of  admiration  that 
every  man  cast  on  her  guileless-seeming  beauty,  she  for 
got  that  she  had  ever  been  annoyed. 

Carson's  comment  as  she  departed  was  uttered  with 
his  accustomed  bluntness. 

"Solid  Ivory!" 

"She's  a  darling,  anyway!"  Mary  declared,  smiling. 
"You  really  don't  half-appreciate  her,  Joe!" 

"Anyhow,  I  appreciate  that  hat,"  was  the  reply,  with 
a  dry  chuckle. 

"Mr.  Griggs,"  Fannie  announced.  There  was  a  smile 
on  the  face  of  the  maid,  which  was  explained  a  minute 
later  when,  in  accordance  with  her  mistress's  order,  the 
visitor  was  shown  into  the  drawing-room,  for  his  pres 
ence  was  of  an  elegance  so  extraordinary  as  to  attract 
attention  anywhere — and  mirth  as  well  from  ribald  ob 
servers. 

Meantime,  Garson  had  explained  to  Mary. 

"It's  English  Eddie — you  met  him  once.  I  wonder 
what  he  wants?  Probably  got  a  trick  for  me.  We 
often  used  to  work  together." 

"Nothing  without  my  consent,"  Mary  warned. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  sure  not!"  Garson  agreed. 

Further  discussion  was  cut  short  by  the  appearance 
of  English  Eddie  himself,  a  tall,  handsome  man  in  the 
early  thirties,  who  paused  just  within  the  doorway,  and 
delivered  to  Mary  a  bow  that  was  the  perfection  of  ele 
gance.  Mary  made  no  effort  to  restrain  the  smile  caused 


1 64  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

by  the  costume  of  Mr.  Griggs.  Yet,  there  was  no  vio 
lation  of  the  canons  of  good  taste,  except  in  the  aggre 
gate.  From  spats  to  hat,  from  walking  coat  to  gloves, 
everything  was  perfect  of  its  kind.  Only,  there  was  an 
over-elaboration,  so  that  the  ensemble  was  flamboyant. 
And  the  man's  manners  precisely  harmonized  with  his 
clothes,  whereby  the  whole  effect  was  emphasized  and 
rendered  bizarre.  Garson  took  one  amazed  look,  and 
then  rocked  with  laughter. 

Griggs  regarded  his  former  associate  reproachfully 
for  a  moment,  and  then  grinned  in  frank  sympathy. 

"Really,  Mr.  Griggs,  you  quite  overcome  me,"  Mary 
said,  half-apologetically. 

The  visitor  cast  a  self-satisfied  glance  over  his  garb. 

"I  think  it's  rather  neat,  myself."  He  had  some  rep 
utation  in  the  under-world  for  his  manner  of  dressing, 
and  he  regarded  this  latest  achievement  as  his  master 
piece. 

"Sure  some  duds!"  Garson  admitted,  checking  his 
merriment. 

"From  your  costume,"  Mary  suggested,  "one  might 
judge  that  this  is  purely  a  social  call.  Is  it?" 

"Well,  not  exactly,"  Griggs  answered  with  a  smile. 

"So  I  fancied,"  his  hostess  replied.  "So,  sit  down, 
please,  and  tell  us  all  about  it." 

While  she  was  speaking,  Garson  went  to  the  various 
doors,  and  made  sure  that  all  were  shut,  then  he  took 
a  seat  in  a  chair  near  that  which  Griggs  occupied  by 
the  desk,  so  that  the  three  were  close  together,  and 
could  speak  softly. 


THE  ADVENT  OF  GRIGGS  165 

English  Eddie  wasted  no  time  in  getting  to  the  point. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  said,  rapidly.  "I've  got  the 
greatest  game  in  the  world.  .  .  .  Two  years  ago,  a  set 
of  Gothic  tapestries,  worth  three  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars  and  a  set  of  Fragonard  panels,  worth  nearly  as  much 
more,  were  plucked  from  a  chateau  in  France  and 
smuggled  into  this  country." 

"I  have  never  heard  of  that,"  Mary  said,  with  some 
interest. 

"No,"  Griggs  replied.  "You  naturally  wouldn't,  for 
the  simple  reason  that  it's  been  kept  on  the  dead  quiet." 

"Ar'e  them  things  really  worth  that  much?"  Garson 
exclaimed. 

"Sometimes  more,"  Mary  answered.  "Morgan  has 
a  set  of  Gothic  tapestries  worth  half  a  million  dollars." 

Garson  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  disgust. 

"He  pays  half  a  million  dollars  for  a  set  of  rugs !" 
There  was  a  note  of  fiercest  bitterness  come  into  his 
voice  as  he  sarcastically  concluded:  "And  they  wonder 
at  crime!" 

Griggs  went  on  with  his  account. 

"About  a  month  ago,  the  things  I  was  telling  you  of 
were  hung  in  the  library  of  a  millionaire  in  this  city." 
He  hitched  his  chair  a  little  closer  to  the  desk,  and 
leaned  forward,  lowering  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper 
as  he  stated  his  plan. 

"Let's  go  after  them.  They  were  smuggled,  mind 
you,  and  no  matter  what  happens,  he  can't  squeal.  What 
do  you  say?" 

Garson  shot  a  piercing  glance  at  Mary. 


1 66  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"It's  up  to  her,"  he  said.  Griggs  regarded  Mary 
eagerly,  as  she  sat  with  eyes  downcast.  Then,  after  a 
little  interval  had  elapsed  in  silence,  he  spoke  interroga 
tively  : 

"Well?" 

,     Mary  shook  her  head  decisively.     "It's  out  of  our 
line,"  she  declared. 

Griggs  would  have  argued  the  matter.  "I  don't  see 
any  easier  way  to  get  half  a  million,"  he  said  aggres 
sively. 

Mary,  however,  was  unimpressed. 

"If  it  were  fifty  millions,  it  would  make  no  differ 
ence.  It's  against  the  law." 

"Oh,  I  know  all  that,  of  course,"  Griggs  returned 
impatiently.  "But  if  you  can " 

Mary  interrupted  him  in  a  tone  of  finality. 

"My  friends  and  I  never  do  anything  that's  illegal  1 
Thank  you  for  coming  to  us,  Mr.  Griggs,  but  we  can't 
go  in,  and  there's  an  end  of  the  matter." 

"But  wait  a  minute,"  English  Eddie  expostulated, 
"you  see  this  chap,  Gilder,  is " 

Mary's  manner  changed  from  indifference  to  sudden 
keen  interest. 

"Gilder?"  she  exclaimed,  questioningly. 

"Yes.  You  know  who  he  is,"  Griggs  answered;  "the 
drygoods  man." 

Garson  in  his  turn  showed  a  new  excitement  as  he 
bent  toward  Mary. 

"Why,  it's  old  Gilder,  the  man  you " 

Mary,  however,  had  regained  her  self-control,  for  a 


THE  ADVENT  OF  GRIGGS  167 

moment  rudely  shaken,  and  now  her  voice  was  tranquil 
again  as  she  replied: 

"I  know.  But,  just  the  same,  it's  illegal,  and  I  won't 
touch  it.  That's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Griggs  was  dismayed. 

"But  half  a  million!"  he  exclaimed,  disconsolately. 
"There's  a  stake  worth  playing  for.  Think  of  it  I" 
He  turned  pleadingly  to  Garson.  "Half  a  million, 
Joe!" 

The  forger  repeated  the  words  with  an  inflection  that 
was  gloating. 

"Half  a  million!" 

"And  it's  the  softest  thing  you  ever  saw." 

The  telephone  at  the  desk  rang,  and  Mary  spoke  into 
it  for  a  moment,  then  rose  and  excused  herself  to  resume 
the  conversation  over  the  wire  more  privately  in  the 
booth.  The  instant  she  was  out  of  the  room,  Griggs 
turned  to  Garson  anxiously. 

"It's  a  cinch,  Joe,"  he  pleaded.  "I've  got  a  plan 
of  the  house."  He  drew  a  paper  from  his  breast-pocket, 
and  handed  it  to  the  forger,  who  seized  it  avidly  and 
studied  it  with  intent,  avaricious  eyes. 

"It  looks  easy,"  Garson  agreed,  as  he  gave  back  the 
paper. 

"It  is  easy,"  Griggs  reiterated.    "What  do  you  say?" 

Garson  shook  his  head  in  refusal,  but  there  was  no 
conviction  in  the  act. 

"I  promised  Mary  never  to " 

Griggs  broke  in  on  him. 

"But  a  chance  like  this!     Anyhow,  come  around  to 


1 68  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

the  back  room  at  Blinkey's  to-night,  and  we'll  have  a 
talk.  Will  you?" 

"What  time?"  Garson  asked  hesitatingly,  tempted. 

"Make  it  early,  say  nine,"  was  the  answer.  "Will 
you?" 

"I'll  come,"  Garson  replied,  half-guiltily.  And  in 
the  same  moment  Mary  reentered. 

Griggs  rose  and  spoke  with  an  air  of  regret. 

"It's  'follow  the  leader,'  "  he  said,  "and  since  you 
are  against  it,  that  settles  it." 

"Yes,  I'm  against  it,"  Mary  said,  firmly. 

"I'm  sorry,"  English  Eddie  rejoined.  "But  we  must 
all  play  the  game  as  we  see  it.  ...  Well,  that  was  the 
business  I  was  after,  and,  as  it's  finished,  why,  good- 
afternoon,  Miss  Turner."  He  nodded  toward  Joe,  and 
took  his  departure. 

Something  of  what  was  in  his  mind  was  revealed  in 
Garson's  first  speech  after  Griggs's  going. 

"That's  a  mighty  big  stake  he's  playing  for." 

"And  a  big  chance  he's  taking!"  Mary  retorted.  "No, 
Joe,  we  don't  want  any  of  that.  We'll  play  a  game 
that's  safe  and  sure." 

The  words  recalled  to  the  forger  weird  forebodings 
that  had  been  troubling  him  throughout  the  day. 

"It's  sure  enough,"  he  stated,  "but  is  it  safe?" 

Mary  looked  up  quickly. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  demanded. 

Garson  walked  to  and  fro  nervously  as  he  answered. 

"S'pose  the  bulls  get  tired  of  you  putting  it  over  on 
'cm  and  try  some  rough  work?" 


THE  ADVENT  OF  GRIGGS  169 

Mary  smiled  carelessly. 

"Don't  worry,  Joe,"  she  advised.  "I  know  a  way 
to  stop  it." 

"Well,  so  far  as  that  goes,  so  do  I,"  the  forger  said, 
with  significant  emphasis. 

"Just  what  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Mary  demanded, 
i  suspiciously. 

"For  rough  work,"  he  said,  "I  have  this."  He  took 
a  magazine  pistol  from  his  pocket.  It  was  of  an  odd 
shape,  with  a  barrel  longer  than  is  usual  and  a  bell- 
shaped  contrivance  attached  to  the  muzzle. 

"No,  no,  Joe,"  Mary  cried,  greatly  discomposed. 
"None  of  that — ever!" 

The  forger  smiled,  and  there  was  malignant  triumph 
in  his  expression. 

"Pooh !"  he  exclaimed.  "Even  if  I  used  it,  they  would 
never  get  on  to  me.  See  this?"  He  pointed  at  the 
strange  contrivance  on  the  muzzle. 

Mary's  curiosity  made  her  forget  for  a  moment  her 
distaste. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked,  interestedly.  "I  have  never 
seen  anything  like  that  before." 

"Of  course  you  haven't,"  Garson  answered  with 
much  pride.  "I'm  the  first  man  in  the  business  to  get 
one,  and  I'll  bet  on  it.  I  keep  up  with  the  times."  For 
once,  he  was  revealing  that  fundamental  egotism  which 
is  the  characteristic  of  all  his  kind.  "That's  one  of  the 
new  Maxim  silencers,"  he  continued.  "With  smokeless 
powder  in  the  cartridges,  and  the  silencer  on,  I  can  make 
a  shot  from  my  coat-pocket,  and  you  wouldn't  even 


i yo  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

know  it  had  been  done.  .  .  .  And  I'm  some  shot,  be 
lieve  me." 

''Impossible !"  Mary  ejaculated. 

"No,  it  ain't,"  the  man  asserted.  "Here,  wait,  I'll 
show  you." 

"Good  gracious,  not  here !"  Mary  exclaimed  in  alarm. 
"We  would  have  the  whole  place  down  on  us." 

Garson  chuckled. 

"You  just  watch  that  dinky  little  vase  on  the  table 
across  the  room  there.  'Tain't  very  valuable,  is  it?" 

"No,"  Mary  answered. 

In  the  same  instant,  while  still  her  eyes  were  on  the 
vase,  it  fell  in  a  cascade  of  shivered  glass  to  the  table 
and  floor.  She  had  heard  no  sound,  she  saw  no  smoke. 
Perhaps,  there  had  been  a  faintest  clicking  noise.  She 
was  not  sure.  She  stared  dumfounded  for  a  few  sec 
onds,  then  turned  her  bewildered  face  toward  Garson, 
who  was  grinning  in  high  enjoyment. 

"I  would'nt  have  believed  it  possible,"  she  declared, 
vastly  impressed. 

"Neat  little  thing,  ain't  it?"  the  man  asked,  exult 
antly. 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  Mary  asked. 

"In  Boston,  last  week.  And  between  you  and  me, 
Mary,  it's  the  only  model,  and  it  sure  is  a  corker  for 


crime." 


The  sinister  association  of  ideas  made  Mary  shudder, 
but  she  said  no  more.  She  would  have  shuddered  again, 
if  she  could  have  guessed  the  vital  part  that  pistol  was 
destined  to  play.  But  she  had  no  thought  of  any  actual 


THE  ADFEN  T  OF  GRIGGS  1 7 1 

peril  to  come  from  it.  She  might  have  thought  other 
wise,  could  she  have  known  of  the  meeting  that  night 
in  the  back  room  of  Blinkey's,  where  English  Eddie  and 
Garson  sat  with  their  heads  close  together  over  a  table. 

"A  chance  like  this,"  Griggs  was  saying,  "a  chance 
that  will  make  a  fortune  for  all  of  us." 

"It  sounds  good,"  Garson  admitted,  wistfully. 

"It  is  good,"  the  other  declared  with  an  oath.  "Why, 
if  this  goes  through,  we're  set  up  for  life.  We  can 
quit,  all  of  us." 

"Yes,"  Garson  agreed,  "we  can  quit,  all  of  us." 
There  was  avarice  in  his  voice. 

The  tempter  was  sure  that  the  battle  was  won,  and 
smiled  contentedly. 

"Well,"  he  urged,  "what  do  you  say?" 

"How  would  we  split  it?"  It  was  plain  that  Garson 
had  given  over  the  struggle  against  greed.  After  all, 
Mary  was  only  a  woman,  despite  her  cleverness,  and 
with  all  a  woman's  timidity.  Here  was  sport  for  men. 

"Three  ways  would  be  right,"  Griggs  answered.  "One 
to  me,  one  to  you  and  one  to  be  divided  up  among  the 
others." 

Garson  brought  his  fist  down  on  the  table  with  a  force 
that  made  the  glasses  jingle. 

"You're  on,"  he  said,  strongly. 

"Fine!"  Griggs  declared,  and  the  two  men  shook 
hands.  "Now,  I'll  get " 

"Get  nothing !"  Garson  interrupted.  "I'll  get  my  own 
men.  Chicago  Red  is  in  town.  So  is  Dacey,  with  per 
haps  a  couple  of  others  of  the  right  sort.  I'll  get  them 


172  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

to  meet  you  at  Blinkey's  at  two  to-morrow  afternoon, 
and,  if  it  looks  right,  we'll  turn  the  trick  to-morrow 
night." 

"That's  the  stuff,"  Griggs  agreed,  greatly  pleased. 

But  a  sudden  shadow  fell  on  the  face  of  Garson.  He 
bent  closer  to  his  companion,  and  spoke  with  a  fierce 
intensity  that  brooked  no  denial. 

"She  must  never  know." 

Griggs  nodded  understandingly. 

"Of  course,"  he  answered.  "I  give  you  my  word 
that  I'll  never  tell  her.  And  you  know  you  can  trust 
me,  Joe." 

"Yes,"  the  forger  replied  somberly,  "I  know  I  can 
trust  you."  But  the  shadow  did  not  lift  from  his  face. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A  WEDDING  ANNOUNCEMENT. 
Mary  dismissed  Garson  presently,  and  betook  her 
self  to  her  bedroom  for  a  nap.  The  day  had  been  a 
trying  one,  and,  though  her  superb  health  could  endure 
much,  she  felt  that  both  prudence  and  comfort  required 
that  she  should  recruit  her  energies  while  there  was 
opportunity.  She  was  not  in  the  least  surprised  that 
Dick  had  not  yet  returned,  though  he  had  mentioned 
half  an  hour.  At  the  best,  there  were  many  things  that 
might  detain  him,  his  father's  absence  from  the  office, 
difficulties  in  making  arrangements  for  his  projected 
honeymoon  trip  abroad — which  would  never  occur — or 
the  like.  At  the  worst,  there  was  a  chance  of  finding 
his  father  promptly,  and  of  that  father  as  promptly 
taking  steps  to  prevent  the  son  from  ever  again  seeing 
the  woman  who  had  so  indiscreetly  married  him.  Yet, 
somehow,  Mary  could  not  believe  that  her  husband 
would  yield  to  such  paternal  coercion.  Rather,  she  was 
sure  that  he  would  prove  loyal  to  her  whom  he  loved, 
through  every  trouble.  At  the  thought  a  certain  wist- 
fulness  pervaded  her,  and  a  poignant  regret  that  this 
particular  man  should  have  been  the  one  chosen  of  fate 
to  be  entangled  within  her  mesh  of  revenge.  There 
throbbed  in  her  a  heart-tormenting  realization  that 


174  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

there  were  in  life  possibilities  infinitely  more  splendid 
than  the  joy  of  vengeance.  She  would  not  confess  the 
truth  even  to  her  inmost  soul,  but  the  truth  was  there, 
and  set  her  a-tremble  with  vague  fears.  Nevertheless, 
because  she  was  in  perfect  health,  and  was  much  fa 
tigued,  her  introspection  did  not  avail  to  keep  her  awake, 
and  within  three  minutes  from  the  time  she  lay  down 
she  was  blissfully  unconscious  of  all  things,  both  the 
evil  and  the  good,  revenge  and  love. 

She  had  slept,  perhaps,  a  half-hour,  when  Fannie 
awakened  her. 

"It's  a  man  named  Burke,"  she  explained,  as  her 
mistress  lay  blinking.  "And  there's  another  man  with 
him.  They  said  they  must  see  you." 

By  this  time,  Mary  was  wide-awake,  for  the  name  of 
Burke,  the  Police  Inspector,  was  enough  to  startle  her 
out  of  drowsiness. 

"Bring  them  in,  in  five  minutes,"  she  directed. 

She  got  up,  slipped  into  a  tea-gown,  bathed  her  eyes 
in  cologne,  dressed  her  hair  a  little,  and  went  into  the 
drawing-room,  where  the  two  men  had  been  waiting 
for  something  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour — to  the 
violent  indignation  of  both. 

"Oh,  here  you  are,  at  last!"  the  big,  burly  man  cried 
as  she  entered.  The  whole  air  of  him,  though  he  was 
in  civilian's  clothes,  proclaimed  the  policeman. 

"Yes,  Inspector,"  Mary  replied  pleasantly,  as  she  ad 
vanced  into  the  room.  She  gave  a  glance  toward  the 
other  visitor,  who  was  of  a  slenderer  form,  with  a  thin, 
keen  face,  and  recognized  him  instantly  as  Demarest, 


A  WEDDING  ANNO  UNCEMEN  T       175 

who  had  taken  part  against  her  as  the  lawyer  for  the 
store  at  the  time  of  her  trial,  and  who  was  now  holding 
the  office  of  District  Attorney.  She  went  to  the  chair  at 
the  desk,  and  seated  herself  in  a  leisurely  fashion  that 
increased  the  indignation  of  the  fuming  Inspector.  She 
did  not  trouble  to  ask  her  self-invited  guests  to  sit. 

"To  whom  do  I  owe  the  pleasure  of  this  visit,  In 
spector?'*  she  remarked  coolly.  It  was  noticeable  that 
she  said  whom  and  not  what,  as  if  she  understood  per 
fectly  that  the  influence  of  some  person  brought  him  on 
this  errand. 

"I  have  come  to  have  a  few  quiet  words  with  you," 
the  Inspector  declared,  in  a  mighty  voice  that  set  the 
globes  of  the  chandeliers  a-quiver.  Mary  disregarded 
him,  and  turned  to  the  other  man. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Demarest?"  she  said,  evenly. 
"It's  four  years  since  we  met,  and  they've  made  you 
District  Attorney  since  then.  Allow  me  to  congratulate 
you." 

Demarest's  keen  face  took  on  an  expression  of  per 
plexity. 

"I'm  puzzled,"  he  confessed.  "There  is  something 
familiar,  somehow,  about  you,  and  yet "  He  scru 
tinized  appreciatively  the  loveliness  of  the  girl  with  her 
classically  beautiful  face,  that  was  still  individual  in  its 
charm,  the  slim  graces  of  the  tall,  lissome  form.  "I 
should  have  remembered  you.  I  don't  understand  it." 

"Can't  you  guess?"  Mary  questioned,  somberly. 
•'Search  your  memory,  Mr.  Demarest." 


i76  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Of  a  sudden,  the  face  of  the  District  Attorney  light 
ened. 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are — it  can't  be — yes— 
you  are  the  girl,  you're  the  Mary  Turner  whom  I — oh, 
I  know  you  now." 

There  was  an  enigmatic  smile  bending  the  scarlet  lips 
as  she  answered. 

"I'm  the  girl  you  mean,  Mr.  Demarest,  but,  for  the 
rest,  you  don't  know  me — not  at  all!" 

The  burly  figure  of  the  Inspector  of  Police,  which 
had  loomed  motionless  during  this  colloquy,  now  ad 
vanced  a  step,  and  the  big  voice  boomed  threatening. 
It  was  very  rough  and  weighted  with  authority. 

"Young  woman,"  Burke  said,  peremptorily,  "the 
Twentieth  Century  Limited  leaves  Grand  Central  Sta 
tion  at  four  o'clock.  It  arrives  in  Chicago  at  eight-fifty- 
five  to-morrow  morning."  He  pulled  a  massive  gold 
watch  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  glanced  at  it,  thrust 
it  back,  and  concluded  ponderously :  "You  will  just  about 
have  time  to  catch  that  train." 

Mary  regarded  the  stockily  built  officer  with  a  half- 
amused  contempt,  which  she  was  at  no  pains  to  con 
ceal. 

"Working  for  the  New  York  Central    now?"    she 

asked  blandly. 

The  gibe  made  the  Inspector  furious. 

"I'm  working  for  the  good  of  New  York  City,"  he 
answered  venomously. 

Mary  let  a  ripple  of  cadenced  laughter  escape  her. 

"Since  when?"  she  questioned. 


^  WEDDING  ANNOUNCEMENT       177 

A  little  smile  twisted  the  lips  of  the  District  Attorney, 
but  he  caught  himself  quickly,  and  spoke  with  stern 
gravity. 

"Miss  Turner,  I  think  you  will  find  that  a  different 
tone  will  serve  you  better." 

"Oh,  let  her  talk,"  Burke  interjected  angrily.  "She's 
only  got  a  few  minutes  anyway." 

Mary  remained  unperturbed. 

"Very  well,  then,"  she  said  genially,  "let  us  be  com 
fortable  during  that  little  period."  She  made  a  gesture 
of  invitation  toward  chairs,  which  Burke  disdained  to 
accept;  but  Demarest  seated  himself. 

"You'd  better  be  packing  your  trunk,"  the  Inspector 
rumbled. 

"But  why?"  Mary  inquired,  with  a  tantalizing  as 
sumption  of  innocence.  "I'm  not  going  away." 

"On  the  Twentieth  Century  Limited,  this  after 
noon,"  the  Inspector  declared,  in  a  voice  of  growing 
wrath. 

"Oh,  dear,  no !"  Mary's  assertion  was  made  very 
quietly,  but  with  an  underlying  firmness  that  irritated 
the  official  beyond  endurance. 

"I  say  yes!"    The  answer  was  a  bellow, 
i      Mary  appeared  distressed,  not  frightened.  Her  words 
were  an  ironic  protest  against  the  man's  obstreperous 
noisiness,  no  more. 

"I  thought  you  wanted  quiet  words  with  me." 

Burke  went  toward  her,  in  a  rage. 

"Now,  look  here,  Mollie "  he  began  harshly. 

On  the  instant,  Mary  was  on  her  feet,  facing  him,  and 


178  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

there  was  a  gleam  in  her  eyes  as  they  met  his  that  bade 
him  pause. 

"Miss  Turner,  if  you  don't  mind."  She  laughed 
slightly.  "For  the  present,  anyway."  She  reseated  her 
self  tranquilly. 

,      Burke  was  checked,  but  he  retained  his  severity  of 
1  bearing. 

"I'm  giving  you  your  orders.  You  will  either  go  to 
Chicago,  or  you'll  go  up  the  river." 

Mary  answered  in  a  voice  charged  with  cynicism. 

"If  you  can  convict  me.  Pray,  notice  that  little  word 
'if'." 

The  District  Attorney  interposed  very  suavely. 

"I  did  once,  remember." 

"But  you  can't  do  it  again,"  Mary  declared,  with  an 
assurance  that  excited  the  astonishedment  of  the  police 
official. 

"How  do  you  know  he  can't?"  he  blustered. 

Mary  laughed  in  a  cadence  of  genial  merriment. 

"Because,"  she  replied  gaily,  "if  he  could,  he  would 
have  had  me  in  prison  some  time  ago." 

Burke  winced,  but  he  made  shift  to  conceal  his  real 
ization  of  the  truth  she  had  stated  to  him. 

"Huh!"  he  exclaimed  gruffly.  "I've  seen  them  go  up 
pretty  easy." 

Mary  met  the  assertion  with  a  serenity  that  was  baf 
fling. 

"The  poor  ones,"  she  vouchsafed;  "not  those  that 
have  money.  I  have  money,  plenty  of  money — now." 

"Money  you  stole!"  the  Inspector  returned,  brutally. 


A  WEDDING  ANNOUNCEMENT       179 

"Oh,  dear,  no!"  Mary  cried,  with  a  fine  show  of 
virtuous  indignation. 

"What  about  the  thirty  thousand  dollars  you  got  on 
that  partnership  swindle?"  Burke  asked,  sneering.  "I 
s'pose  you  didn't  steal  that!" 

"Certainly  not,"  was  the  ready  reply.  "The  man  ad 
vertised  for  a  partner  in  a  business  sure  to  bring  big 
and  safe  returns.  I  answered.  The  business  proposed 
was  to  buy  a  tract  of  land,  and  subdivide  it.  The  deeds 
to  the  land  were  all  forged,  and  the  supposed  seller  was 
his  confederate,  with  whom  he  was  to  divide  the  money. 
We  formed  a  partnership,  with  a  capital  of  sixty  thou 
sand  dollars.  We  paid  the  money  into  the  bank,  and 
then  at  once  I  drew  it  out.  You  see,  he  wanted  to  get 
my  money  illegally,  but  instead  I  managed  to  get  his 
legally.  For  it  was  legal  for  me  to  draw  that  money — 
wasn't  it,  Mr.  Demarest?" 

The  District  Attorney  by  an  effort  retained  his  severe 
expression  of  righteous  disapprobation,  but  he  admitted 
the  truth  of  her  contention. 

"Unfortunately,  yes,"  he  said  gravely.  "A  partner 
has  the  right  to  draw  out  any,  or  all,  of  the  partnership, 
funds." 

"And  I  was  a  partner,"  Mary  said  contentedly.  "You 
see,  Inspector,  you  wrong  me — you  do,  really !  I'm  not 
a  swindler;  I'm  a  financier." 

Burke  sneered  scornfully. 

"Well,"  he  roared,  "you'll  never  pull  another  one  on 
me.  You  can  gamble  on  that!" 


i8o  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Mary  permitted  herself  to  laugh  mockingly  in  the 
face  of  the  badgered  official. 

"Thank  you  for  telling  me,"  she  said,  graciously. 
"And  let  me  say,  incidentally,  that  Miss  Lynch  at  the 
present  moment  is  painlessly  extracting  ten  thousand 
dollars  from  General  Hastings  in  a  perfectly  legal  man 
ner,  Inspector  Burke." 

"Well,  anyhow,"  Burke  shouted,  "you  may  stay  in 
side  the  law,  but  you've  got  to  get  outside  the  city." 
He  tried  to  employ  an  elephantine  bantering  tone.  "On 
the  level,  now,  do  you  think  you  could  get  away  with 
that  young  Gilder  scheme  you've  been  planning?" 

Mary  appeared  puzzled. 

"What  young  Gilder  scheme?"  she  asked,  her  brows 
drawn  in  bewilderment. 

"Oh,  I'm  wise — I'm  wise !"  the  Inspector  cried  rough 
ly.  "The  answer  is,  once  for  all,  leave  town  this  after 
noon,  or  you'll  be  in  the  Tombs  in  the  morning." 

Abruptly,  a  change  came  over  the  woman.  Hitherto, 
she  had  been  cynical,  sarcastic,  laughing,  careless,  impu 
dent.  Now,  of  a  sudden,  she  was  all  seriousness,  and 
she  spoke  with  a  gravity  that,  despite  their  volition,  im 
pressed  both  the  men  before  her. 

"It  can't  be  done,  Inspector,"  she  said,  sedately. 

The  declaration,  simple  as  it  was,  aroused  the  official 
to  new  indignation. 

"Who  says  it  can't?"  he  vociferated,  overflowing  with 
anger  at  this  flouting  of  the  authority  he  represented. 

Mary  opened  a  drawer  "of  the  desk,  and  took  out  the 


A  WEDDING  ANNO  UNCEMEN  T        1 8 1 

document  obtained  that  morning  from  Harris,  and  held 
it  forth. 

"This,"  she  replied,  succinctly. 

"What's  this?"  Burke  stormed.  But  he  took  the 
paper. 

Demarest  looked  over  the  Inspector's  shoulder,  and 
his  eyes  grew  larger  as  he  read.  When  he  was  at  an 
end  of  the  reading,  he  regarded  the  passive  woman  at 
the  desk  with  a  new  respect. 

"What's  this?"  Burke  repeated  helplessly.  It  was 
not  easy  for  him  to  interpret  the  legal  phraseology. 
Mary  was  kind  enough  to  make  the  document  clear  to 
him. 

"It's  a  temporary  restraining  order  from  the  Supreme 
Court,  instructing  you  to  let  me  alone  until  you  have 
legal  proof  that  I  have  broken  the  law.  .  .  .  Do  you 
get  that,  Mr.  Inspector  Burke?" 

The  plethoric  official  stared  hard  at  the  injunction. 
"Another  new  one,"  he  stuttered  finally.     Then  his 
anger  sought  vent  in  violent  assertion.    "But  it  can't  be 
done!"  he  shouted. 

"You  might  ask  Mr.  Demarest,"  Mary  suggested, 
pleasantly,  "as  to  whether  or  not  it  can  be  done.  The 
gambling  houses  can  do  it,  and  so  keep  on  breaking  the 
law.  The  race  track  men  can  do  it,  and  laugh  at  the 
law.  The  railroad  can  do  it,  to  restrain  its  employees 
from  striking.  So,  why  shouldn't  I  get  one,  too  ?  You 
see,  I  have  money.  I  can  buy  all  the  law  I  want.  And 
there's  nothing  you  can't  do  with  the  law,  if  you  have 
money  enough.  ,„  ,., ,.  Ask  Mr.  Demarest.  He  knows." 


!8z  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Burke  was  fairly  gasping  over  this  outrage  against 
his  authority. 

"Can  you  beat  that!"  he  rumbled  with  a  raucously 
sonorous  vehemence.  He  regarded  Mary  with  a  stare 
of  almost  reverential  wonder.  "A  crook  appealing  to 
the  law!" 

There  came  a  new  note  into  the  woman's  voice  as  she 
answered  the  gibe. 

"No,  simply  getting  justice,"  she  said  simply.  "That's 
the  remarkable  part  of  it."  She  threw  off  her  serious 
air.  "Well,  gentlemen,"  she  concluded,  "what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?" 

Burke  explained. 

"This  is  what  I'm  going  to  do  about  it.  One  way 
or  another,  I'm  going  to  get  you." 

The  District  Attorney,  however,  judged  it  advisable 
to  use  more  persuasive  methods. 

"Miss  Turner,"  he  said,  with  an  appearance  of  sin 
cerity,  "I'm  going  to  appeal  to  your  sense  of  fair  play." 

Mary's  shining  eyes  met  his  for  a  long  moment,  and 
before  the  challenge  in  hers,  his  fell.  He  remembered 
then  those  doubts  that  had  assailed  him  when  this  girl 
had  been  sentenced  to  prison,  remembered  the  half 
hearted  plea  he  had  made  in  her  behalf  to  Richard 
Gilder. 

"That  was  killed,"  Mary  said,  "killed  four  years 
ago." 

But  Demarest  persisted.  Influence  had  been  brought 
to  bear  on  him.  It  was  for  her  own  sake  now  that  he 
urged  her. 


A  WEDDING  ANNO  UNCEMEN  T       183 

"Let  young  Gilder  alone." 

Mary  laughed  again.  But  there  was  no  hint  of  joy- 
ousness  in  the  musical  tones.  Her  answer  was  frank — 
brutally  frank.  She  had  nothing  to  conceal. 

"His  father  sent  me  away  for  three  years — three  years 
for  something  I  didn't  do.  Well,  he's  got  to  pay  for 


it." 


By  this  time,  Burke,  a  man  of  superior  intelligence, 
as  one  must  be  to  reach  such  a  position  of  authority, 
had  come  to  realize  that  here  was  a  case  not  to  be 
carried  through  by  blustering,  by  intimidation,  by  the 
rough  ruses  familiar  to  the  force.  Here  was  a  woman 
of  extraordinary  intelligence,  as  well  as  of  peculiar  per 
sonal  charm,  who  merely  made  sport  of  his  fulmina- 
tions,  and  showed  herself  essentially  armed  against  any 
thing  he  might  do,  by  a  court  injunction,  a  thing  un 
heard  of  until  this  moment  in  the  case  of  a  common 
crook.  It  dawned  upon  him  that  this  was,  indeed,  not 
a  common  crook.  Moreover,  there  had  grown  in  him  a 
certain  admiration  for  the  ingenuity  and  resource  of 
this  woman,  though  he  retained  all  his  rancor  against 
one  who  dared  thus  to  resist  the  duly  constituted  author 
ity.  So,  in  the  end,  he  spoke  to  her  frankly,  without  a 
trace  of  his  former  virulence,  with  a  very  real,  if  rugged, 
sincerity. 

"Don't  fool  yourself,  my  girl,"  he  said  in  his  huge 
voice,  which  was  now  modulated  to  a  degree  that  made 
it  almost  unfamiliar  to  himself.  "You  can't  go  through 
with  this.  There's  always  a  weak  link  in  the  chain 
somewhere.  It's  up  to  me  to  find  it,  and  I  will." 


r84  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

His  candor  moved  her  to  a  like  honesty. 

"Now,"  she  said,  and  there  was  respect  in  the  glance 
she  gave  the  stalwart  man,  "now  you  really  sound  dan 
gerous." 

There  came  an  interruption,  alike  unexpected  by  all. 
Fannie  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Mr.  Edward  Gilder  wishes  to  see  you,  Miss  Tur 
ner,"  she  said,  with  no  appreciation  of  anything  dynamic 
in  the  announcement.  "Shall  I  show  him  in?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  Mary  answered,  with  an  admirable 
pretense  of  indifference,  while  Burke  glared  at  Demar- 
est,  and  the  District  Attorney  appeared  ill  at  ease. 

"He  shouldn't  have  come,"  Demarest  muttered,  get 
ting  to  his  feet,  in  reply  to  the  puzzled  glance  of  the 
Inspector. 

Then,  while  Mary  sat  quietly  in  her  chair  at  the  desk, 
and  the  two  men  stood  watching  doubtfully  the  door, 
the  maid  appeared,  stood  aside,  and  said  simply,  "Mr. 
Gilder." 

There  entered  the  erect,  heavy  figure  of  the  man 
whom  Mary  had  hated  through  the  years.  He  stopped 
abruptly  just  within  the  room,  gave  a  glance  at  the  two 
men,  then  his  eyes  went  to  Mary,  sitting  at  her  desk, 
with  her  face  lifted  inquiringly.  He  did  not  pause  to 
take  in  the  beauty  of  that  face,  only  its  strength.  He 
stared  at  her  silently  for  a  moment.  Then  he  spoke  in 
his  oritund  voice,  a  little  tremulous  from  anxiety. 

"Are  you  the  woman?"  he  said.  There  was  some 
thing  simple  and  primitive,  something  of  dignity  beyond 
the  usual  conventions,  in  his  direct  address. 


A  WEDDING  ANNOUNCEMENT       185 

'And  there  was  the  same  primitive  simplicity  in  the 
answer.  Between  the  two  strong  natures  there  was  no 
subterfuge,  no  suggestion  of  polite  evasions,  of  tergiv 
ersation,  only  the  plea  of  truth  to  truth.  Mary's  ac 
knowledgment  was  as  plain  as  his  own  question. 

"I  am  the  woman.  What  do  you  want?"  L.  L.,  IBJ  Thus 
two  honest  folk  had  met  face  to  face. 

"My  son."    The  man's  answer  was  complete. 

But  Mary  touched  a  tragic  note  in  her  question.  It 
was  asked  in  no  frivolous  spirit,  but,  of  a  sudden,  she 
guessed  that  his  coming  was  altogether  of  his  own  voli 
tion,  and  not  the  result  of  his  son's  information,  as  at 
iirst  she  had  supposed. 

"Have  you  seen  him  recently?"  she  asked. 

"No,"   Girder  answered. 

"Then,  why  did  you  come?" 

Thereat,  the  man  was  seized  with  a  fatherly  fury. 
His  heavy  face  was  congested,  and  his  sonorous  voice 
was  harsh  with  virtuous  rebuke. 

"Because  I  intend  to  save  my  boy  from  a  great  folly. 
I  am  informed  that  he  is  infatuated  with  you,  and  In 
spector  Burke  tells  me — why — he  tells  me — why — he 
tells  me "  He  paused,  unable  for  a  moment  to  con 
tinue  from  an  excess  of  emotion.  But  his  gray  eyes 
burned  fiercely  in  accusation  against  her. 

Inspector  Burke  himself  filled  the  void  in  the  halting 
sentence. 

"I  told  you  she  had  been  an  ex-convict." 

".Yes,"  Gilder  said,  after  he  had  regained  his  self-con- 


1 86  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

trol.  He  stared  at  her  pleadingly.  "Tell  me,"  he  said 
with  a  certain  dignity,  "is  this  true?" 

Here,  then,  was  the  moment  for  which  she  had 
longed  through  weary  days,  through  weary  years.  Here 
was  the  man  whom  she  hated,  suppliant  before  her  to 
know  the  truth.  Her  heart  quickened.  Truly,  ven 
geance  is  sweet  to  one  who  has  suffered  unjustly. 

"Is  this  true?"  the  man  repeated,  with  something  of 
horror  in  his  voice. 

"It  is,"  Mary  said  quietly. 

For  a  little,  there  was  silence  in  the  room.  Once,  In 
spector  Burke  started  to  speak,  but  the  magnate  made 
an  imperative  gesture,  and  the  officer  held  his  peace. 
Always,  Mary  rested  motionless.  Within  her,  a  fierce 
joy  surged.  Here  was  the  time  of  her  victory.  Oppo 
site  her  was  the  man  who  had  caused  her  anguish,  the 
man  whose  unjust  action  had  ruined  her  life.  Now,  he 
was  her  humble  petitioner,  but  this  servility  could  be  of 
no  avail  to  save  him  from  shame.  He  must  drink  of 
the  dregs  of  humiliation — and  then  again.  No  price 
were  too  great  to  pay  for  a  wrong  such  as  that  which 
he  had  put  upon  her. 

At  last,  Gilder  was  restored  in  a  measure  to  his  self- 
possession.  He  spoke  with  the  sureness  of  a  man  of 
wealth,  confident  that  money  will  salve  any  wound. 

"How  much?"  he  asked,  baldly. 

Mary  smiled  an  inscrutable  smile. 

"Oh,  I  don't  need  money,"  she  said,  carelessly.  "In 
spector  Burke  will  tell  you  how  easy  it  is  for  me  to 
get  it." 


A  WEDDING  ANNOUNCEMENT       187 

Gilder  looked  at  her  with  a  newly  dawning  respect; 
then  his  shrewdness  suggested  a  retort. 

"Do  you  want  my  son  to  learn  what  you  are?"  he 
said. 

Mary  laughed.  There  was  something  dreadful  in 
that  burst  of  spurious  amusement. 

"Why  not?"  she  answered.  "I'm  ready  to  tell  him 
myself." 

Then  Gilder  showed  the  true  heart  of  him,  in  which 
love  for  his  boy  was  before  all  else.  He  found  himself 
wholly  at  a  loss  before  the  woman's  unexpected  reply. 

"But  I  don't  want  him  to  know,"  he  stammered. 
"Why,  I've  spared  the  boy  all  his  life.  If  he  really 
loves  you — it  will " 

At  that  moment,  the  son  himself  entered  hurriedly 
from  the  hallway.  In  his  eagerness,  he  saw  no  one  save 
the  woman  whom  he  loved.  At  his  entrance,  Mary 
rose  and  moved  backward  a  step  involuntarily,  in  sheer 
surprise  over  his  coming,  even  though  she  had  known 
he  must  come — perhaps  from  some  other  emotion,  deep 
er,  hidden  as  yet  even  from  herself. 

The  young  man,  with  his  wholesome  face  alight  with 
tenderness,  went  swiftly  to  her,  while  the  other  three 
men  stood  silent,  motionless,  abashed  by  the  event.  And 
Dick  took  Mary's  hand  in  a  warm  clasp,  pressed  it  ten 
derly. 

"I  didn't  see  father,"  he  said  happily,  "but  I  left  him 
a  note  on  his  desk  at  the  office." 

Then,  somehow,  the  surcharged  atmosphere  pene 
trated  his  consciousness,  and  he  looked  around,  to  see 


1 88  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

his  father  standing  grimly  opposite  him.    But  there  was 
no  change  in  his  expression  beyond  a  more  radiant  smile. 

"Hello,  Dad!"  he  cried,  joyously.  "Then  you  got 
my  note?" 

The  voice  of  the  older  man  came  with  a  sinister  force 
and  saturnine. 

"No,  Dick,  I  haven't  had  any  note." 

"Then,  why ?"  The  young  man  broke  off  sud 
denly.  He  was  become  aware  that  here  was  something 
malignant,  with  a  meaning  beyond  his  present  under 
standing,  for  he  saw  the  Inspector  and  Demarest,  and 
he  knew  the  two  of  them  for  what  they  were  officially. 

"What  are  they  doing  here?"  he  demanded  suspi 
ciously,  staring  at  the  two. 

"Oh,  never  mind  them,"  Mary  said.  There  was  a 
malevolent  gleam  in  her  violet  eyes.  This  was  the 
recompense  of  which  she  had  dreamed  through  soul- 
tearing  ages.  "Just  tell  your  father  your  news,  Dick." 

The  young  man  had  no  comprehension  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  only  a  pawn  in  the  game.  He  spoke  with 
simple  pride. 

"Dad,  we're  married.  Mary  and  I  were  married  this 
morning." 

Always,  Mary  stared  with  her  eyes  steadfast  on  the 
father.  There  was  triumph  in  her  gaze.  This  was  the 
vengeance  for  which  she  had  longed,  for  which  she  had 
plotted,  the  vengeance  she  had  at  at  last  achieved.  Here 
was  her  fruition,  the  period  of  her  supremacy. 

Gilder  himself  seemed  dazed  by  the  brief  sentence. 

"Say  that  again,"  he  commanded. 


A  WEDDING  ANNOUNCEMENT       189 

Mary  rejoiced  to  make  the  knowledge  sure. 

"I  married  your  son  this  morning,"  she  said  in  a  mat 
ter-of-fact  tone.  "I  married  him.  Do  you  quite  under 
stand,  Mr.  Gilder?  I  married  him."  In  that  insistence 
lay  her  ultimate  compensation  for  untold  misery.  The 
father  stood  there  wordless,  unable  to  find  speech 
against  this  calamity  that  had  befallen  him. 

It  was  Burke  who  offered  a  diverison,  a  crude  inter 
ruption  after  his  own  fashion. 

"It's  a  frame-up,"  he  roared.  He  glared  at  the  young 
man.  "Tell  your  father  it  ain't  true.  Why,  do  you 
know  what  she  is?  She's  done  time."  He  paused  for 
an  instant,  then  spoke  in  a  voice  that  was  brutally  men 
acing.  "And,  by  God,  she'll  do  it  again !" 

The  young  man  turned  toward  his  bride.  There  was 
disbelief,  hope,  despair,  in  his  face,  which  had  grown 
older  by  years  with  the  passing  of  the  seconds. 

"It's  a  lie,  Mary,"  he  said.  "Say  it's  a  lie!"  He 
seized  her  hand  passionately. 

There  was  no  quiver  in  her  voice  as  she  answered. 
She  drew  her  hand  from  his  clasp,  and  spoke  evenly. 

"It's  the  truth." 

"It's  the  truth!"  the  young  man  repeated,  incredu 
lously. 

"It  is  the  truth,"  Mary  said,  firmly.  "I  have  served 
three  years  in  prison." 

There  was  a  silence  of  a  minute  that  was  like  years. 
It  was  the  father  who  broke  it,  and  now  his  voice  was 
become  tremulous. 

"I  wanted  to  save  you,  Dick.     That's  why  I  came." 


1 90  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

The  son  interrupted  him  violently. 

"There's  a  mistake — there  must  be." 

It  was  Demarest  who  gave  an  official  touch  to  the 
tragedy  of  the  moment. 

"There's  no  mistake,"  he  said.  There  was  authority 
in  his  statement. 

"There  is,  I  tell  you!"  Dick  cried,  horrified  by  this 
conspiracy  of  defamation.  He  turned  his  tortured  face 
to  his  bride  of  a  day. 

"Mary,"  he  said  huskily,  "there  is  a  mistake." 

Something  in  her  face  appalled  him.  He  was  voice 
less  for  a  few  terrible  instants.  Then  he  spoke  again, 
more  beseechingly. 

"Say  there's  a  mistake." 

Mary  preserved  her  poise.  Yes — she  must  not  for 
get!  This  was  the  hour  of  her  triumph.  What  mat 
tered  it  that  the  honey  of  it  was  as  ashes  in  her  mouth? 
She  spoke  with  a  simplicity  that  admitted  no  denial. 

"It's  all  quite  true." 

The  man  who  had  so  loved  her,  so  trusted  her,  was 
overwhelmed  by  the  revelation.  He  stood  trembling 
for  a  moment,  tottered,  almost  it  seemed  would  have 
fallen,  but  presently  steadied  himself  and  sank  supinely 
into  a  chair,  where  he  sat  in  impotent  suffering. 

The  father  looked  at  Mary  with  a  reproach  that  w-as 
pathetic. 

"See,"  he  said,  and  his  heavy  voice  was  for  once  thin 
with  passion,"  see  what  you've  done  to  my  boy!" 

Mary  had  held  her  eyes  on  Dick.  There  had  been 
in  her  gaze  a  conflict  of  emotions,  strong  and  baffling. 


A  WEDDING  ANNO  UNCEMEN  T       191 

Now,  however,  when  the  father  spoke,  her  face  grew 
more  composed,  and  her  eyes  met  his  coldly.  Her  voice 
was  level  and  vaguely  dangerous  as  she  answered  his 
accusation. 

"What  is  that  compared  to  what  you  have  done  to 
me?" 

Gilder  stared  at  her  in  honest  amazement.  He  had 
no  suspicion  as  to  the  tragedy  that  lay  between  him 
and  her. 

"What  have  I  done  to  you?"  he  questioned,  uncom 
prehending. 

Mary  moved  forward,  passing  beyond  the  desk,  and 
continued  her  advance  toward  him  until  the  two  stood 
close  together,  face  to  face.  She  spoke  softly,  but  with 
an  intensity  of  supreme  feeling  in  her  voice. 

"Do  you  remember  what  I  said  to  you  the  day  you 
had  me  sent  away?" 

The  merchant  regarded  her  with  stark  lack  of  under 
standing. 

"I  don't  remember  you  at  all,"  he  said. 

The  woman  looked  at  him  intently  for  a  moment, 
then  spoke  in  a  colorless  voice. 

"Perhaps  you  remember  Mary  Turner,  who  was  ar 
rested  four  years  ago  for  robbing  your  store.  And  per 
haps  you  remember  that  she  asked  to  speak  to  you  be 
fore  they  took  her  to  prison." 

The  heavy-jowled  man  gave  a  start. 

"Oh,  you  begin  to  remember.  Yes!  There  was  a 
girl  who  swore  she  was  innocent — yes,  she  swore  that 


i92  WITIHIN  THE  LAW 

she  was  innocent.    And  she  would  have  got  off — only, 
you  asked  the  judge  to  make  an  example  of  her.1' 

The  man  to  whom  she  spoke  had  gone  gray  a  little. 
He  began  to  understand,  for  he  was  not  lacking  in  in 
telligence.  Somehow,  it  was  borne  in  on  him  that  this 
woman  had  a  grievance  beyond  the  usual  run  of  in 
juries. 

"You  are  that  girl?"  he  said.  It  was  not  a  question, 
rather  an  affirmation. 

Mary  spoke  with  the  dignity  of  long  suffering — more 
than  that,  with  the  confident  dignity  of  a  vengeance  long 
delayed,  now  at  last  achieved.  Her  words  were  simple 
enough,  but  they  touched  to  the  heart  of  the  man  ac 
cused  by  them. 

"I  am  that  girl." 

There  was  a  little  interval  of  silence.  Then,  Mary 
spoke  again,  remorselessly. 

"You  took  away  my  good  name.  You  smashed  my 
life.  You  put  me  behind  the  bars.  You  owe  for  all 
that.  .  ,.,  .  Well,  I've  begun  to  collect." 

The  man  opposite  her,  the  man  of  vigorous  form,  of 
strong  face  and  keen  eyes,  stood  gazing  intently  for 
long  moments.  In  that  time,  he  was  learning  many 
things.  Finally,  he  spoke. 

"And  that  is  why  you  married  my  boy." 

"It  is."    Mary  gave  the  answer  coldly,  convincingly. 

Convincingly,  save  to  one— her  husband.  Dick  sud 
denly  aroused,  and  spoke  with  the  violence  of  one  sure. 

"It  is  not!" 

Burke  shouted  a  warning.     Demarest,  more  diplo- 


fA  WEDDING  ANNOUNCEMENT       193 

matic,  made  a  restraining  gesture  toward  the  police  offi 
cial,  then  started  to  address  the  young  man  soothingly. 

But  Dick  would  have  none  of  their  interference. 

"This  is  my  affair,"  he  said,  and  the  others  fell  silent. 
He  stood  up  and  went  to  Mary,  and  took  her  two  hands 
in  his,  very  gently,  yet  very  firmly. 

"Mary,"  he  said  softly,  yet  with  a  strength  of  con 
viction,  "you  married  me  because  you  love  me." 

The  wife  shuddered,  but  she  strove  to  deny. 

"No,"  she  said  gravely,  "no,  I  did  not!" 

"And  you  love  me  now!"  he  went  on  insistingly. 

"No,  no!"  Mary's  denial  came  like  a  cry  for  es 
cape. 

"You  love  me  now !"  There  was  a  masterful  quality 
in  his  declaration,  which  seemed  to  ignore  her  negation. 

"I  don't,"  she  repeated  bitterly. 

But  he  was  inexorable. 

"Look  me  in  the  face,  and  say  that." 

He  took  her  face  in  his  hands,  lifted  it,  and  his  eyes 
met  hers  searchingly. 

"Look  me  in  the  face,  and  say  that,"  he  repeated. 

There  was  a  silence  that  seemed  long,  though  it  was 
measured  in  the  passing  of  seconds.  The  three  watch 
ers  dared  not  interrupt  this  drama  of  emotions,  but,  at 
last,  Mary,  who  had  planned  so  long  for  this  hour, 
gathered  her  forces  and  spoke  valiantly.  Her  voice 
was  low,  but  without  any  weakness  of  doubt. 

"I  do  not  love  you." 

In  the  instant  of  reply,  Dick  Gilder,  by  some  inspir 
ation  of  love,  changed  his  attitude. 


i94  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Just  the  same,"  he  said  cheerfully,   "y°u  are  my 
wife,  and  I'm  going  to  keep  you  and  make  you  love 


me." 


Mary  felt  a  thrill  of  fear  through  her  very  soul. 

"You  can't!"  she  cried  harshly.     "You  are  his  son!" 

"She's  a  crook!"  Burke  said. 

"I  don't  care  a  damn  what  you've  been!"  Dick  ex 
claimed.  "From  now  on  you'll  go  straight.  You'll  walk 
the  straightest  line  a  woman  ever  walked.  You'll  put  all 
thoughts  of  vengeance  out  of  your  heart,  because  I'll  fill 
it  with  something  bigger — I'm  going  to  make  you  love 


me." 


Burke,  with  his  rousing  voice,  spoke  again : 

"I  tell  you,  she's  a  crook!" 

Mary  moved  a  little,  and  then  turned  her  face  to 
ward  Gilder. 

"And,  if  I  am,  who  made  me  one?  You  can't  send 
a  girl  to  prison,  and  have  her  come  out  anything  else." 

Burke  swung  himself  around  in  a  movement  of  com 
plete  disgust. 

"She  didn't  get  her  time  for  good  behavior." 

Mary  raised  her  head,  haughtily,  with  a  gesture  of 
high  disdain. 

"And  I'm  proud  of  it !"  came  her  instant  retort.^  "Do 
you  know  what  goes  on  there  behind  those  stone  walls? 
Do  you,  Mr.  District  Attorney,  whose  business  it  is  to 
send  girls  there?  Do  you  know  what  a  girl  is  expected 
to  do,  to  get  time  off  for  good  behavior?  If  you  don't, 
the  keepers." 

Gilder  moved  fussily. 


A  WEDDING  ANNOUNCEMENT       195 

-    "And  you " 

Mary  swayed  a  little,  standing  there  before  her  ques 
tioner. 

"I  served  every  minute  of  my  time — every  minute  o.f 
it,  three  full,  whole  years.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  want 
to  get  even,  that  some  one  has  got  to  pay?  Four  years 
ago,  you  took  away  my  name — and  gave  me  a  number. 
.  .  .  Now,  I've  given  up  the  number — and  I've  got 
_.your  name." 


CHAPTER   XV. 

AFTERMATH  OF  TRAGEDY. 

The  Gilders,  both  father  and  son,  endured  much  suf 
fering  throughout  the  night  and  day  that  followed  the 
scene  in  Mary  Turner's  apartment,  when  she  had  made 
known  the  accomplishment  of  her  revenge  on  the  older 
man  by  her  ensnaring  of  the  younger.  Dick  had  fol 
lowed  the  others  out  of  her  presence  at  her  command, 
emphasized  by  her  leaving  him  alone  when  he  would 
have  pleaded  further  with  her.  Since  then,  he  had 
striven  to  obtain  another  interview  with  his  bride,  but 
she  had  refused  him.  He  was  denied  admission  to  the 
apartment.  Only  the  maid  answered  the  ringing  of  the 
telephone,  and  his  notes  were  seemingly  unheeded.  Dis 
traught  by  this  violent  interjection  of  torment  into  a 
life  that  hitherto  had  known  no  important  suffering, 
Dick  Gilder  showed  what  mettle  of  man  lay  beneath  his 
debonair  appearance.  And  that  mettle  was  of  a  kind 
worth  while.  In  these  hours  of  grief,  the  soul  of  him  put 
out  its  strength.  He  learned  beyond  peradventure  of 
doubt  that  the  woman  whom  he  had  married  was  in 
truth  an  ex-convict,  even  as  Burke  and  Demarest  had 
declared.  Nevertheless,  he  did  not  for  an  instant  be 
lieve  that  she  was  guilty  of  the  crime  with  which  she  had 
been  originally  charged  and  for  which  she  had  served 

196 


AFTERMATH  OF  TRAGEDY          197 

a  sentence  in  prison.  For  the  rest,  he  could  understand 
in  some  degree  how  the  venom  of  the  wrong  inflicted 
on  her  had  poisoned  her  nature  through  the  years,  till 
she  had  worked  out  its  evil  through  the  scheme  of 
which  he  was  the  innocent  victim.  He  cared  little  for 
the  fact  that  recently  she  had  devoted  herself  to  de 
vious  devices  for  making  money,  to  ingenious  schemes 
for  legal  plunder.  In  his  summing  of  her,  he  set  as 
more  than  an  offset  to  her  unrighteousness  in  this  re 
gard  the  desperate  struggle  she  had  made  after  leaving 
prison  to  keep  straight,  which,  as  he  learned,  had  ended 
in  her  attempt  at  suicide.  He  knew  the  intelligence  of 
this  woman  whom  he  loved,  and  in  his  heart  was  no 
thought  of  her  faults  as  vital  flaws.  It  seemed  to  him 
rather  that  circumstances  had  compelled  her,  and  that 
through  all  the  suffering  of  her  life  she  had  retained  the 
more  beautiful  qualities  of  her  womanliness,  for  which 
he  reverenced  her.  In  the  closeness  of  their  associa 
tion,  short  as  it  had  been,  he  had  learned  to  know  some 
thing  of  the  tenderer  depths  within  her,  the  kindliness 
of  her,  the  wholesomeness.  Swayed  as  he  was  by  the 
loveliness  of  her,  he  was  yet  more  enthralled  by  those 
inner  qualities  of  which  the  outer  beauty  was  only  the 
fitting  symbol. 

So,  in  the  face  of  this  catastrophe,  where  a  less  love 
must  have  been  destroyed  utterly,  Dick  remained  loyal. 
His  passionate  regard  did  not  falter  for  a  moment.  It; 
never  even  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  cast  her  off, 
might  yield  to  his  father's  prayers,  and  abandon  her, 
On  the  contrary,  his  only  purpose  was  to  gain  her  for 


,198  WIHHIN  THE  LAW 

himself,  to  cherish  and  guard  her  against  every  ill,  to 
protect  with  his  love  from  every  attack  of  shame  or  in 
jury.  He  would  not  believe  that  the  girl  did  not  care 
for  him.  Whatever  had  been  her  first  purpose  of  using 
him  only  as  an  instrument  through  which  to  strike 
against  his  father,  whatever  might  be  her  present  plan 
of  eliminating  him  from  her  life  in  the  future,  he  still 
was  sure  that  she  had  grown  to  know  a  real  and  lasting 
affection  for  himself.  He  remembered  startled  glances 
from  the  violet  eyes,  caught  unawares,  and  the  music  of 
her  voice  in  rare  instants,  and  these  told  him  that  love 
for  him  stirred,  even  though  it  might  as  yet  be  but 
faintly,  in  her  heart. 

Out  of  that  fact,  he  drew  an  immediate  comfort  in 
this  period  of  his  misery.  Nevertheless,  his  anguish 
was  a  racking  one.  He  grew  older  visibly  in  the  night 
and  the  day.  There  crept  suddenly  lines  of  new  feeling 
into  his  face,  and,  too,  lines  of  new  strength.  The  boy 
died  in  that  time;  the  man  was  born,  came  forth  in  the 
full  of  his  steadfastness  and  his  courage,  and  his  love. 

The  father  suffered  with  the  son.  He  was  a  proud 
man,  intensely  gratified  over  the  commanding  position 
to  which  he  had  achieved  in  the  commercial  world,  proud 
of  his  business  integrity,  of  his  standing  in  the  corn- 
unity  as  a  leader,  proud  of  his  social  position,  proud 
most  of  all  of  the  son  whom  he  so  loved.  Now,  this 
hideous  disaster  threatened  his  pride  at  every  turn — 
worse,  it  threatened  the  one  person  in  the  world  whom 
he  really  loved.  Most  fathers  would  have  stormed  at 
the  boy  when  pleading  failed,  would  have  given  com- 


AFTERMATH  OF  TRAGEDY  199 

mands  with  harshness,  would  have  menaced  the  recalci 
trant  with  disinheritance.  Edward  Gilder  did  none  of 
these  things,  though  his  heart  was  sorely  wounded.  He 
loved  his  son  too  much  to  contemplate  making  more 
evil  for  the  lad  by  any  estrangement  between  them.  Yet 
he  felt  that  the  matter  could  not  safely  be  left  in  the 
hands  of  Dick  himself.  He  realized  that  his  son  loved 
the  woman — nor  could  he  wonder  much  at  that.  His 
keen  eyes  had  perceived  Mary  Turner's  graces  of  form, 
her  loveliness  of  face.  He  had  apprehended,  too,  in 
some  measure  at  least,  the  fineness  of  her  mental  fiber 
and  the  capacities  of  her  heart.  Deep  within  him,  de 
nied  any  outlet,  he  knew  there  lurked  a  curious,  subtle 
sympathy  for  the  girl  in  her  scheme  of  revenge  against 
himself.  Her  persistent  striving  toward  the  object  of 
her  ambition  was  something  he  could  understand,  since 
the  like  thing  in  different  guise  had  been  back  of  his  own 
business  success.  He  would  not  let  the  idea  rise  to  the 
surface  of  consciousness,  for  he  still  refused  to  believe 
that  Mary  Turner  had  suffered  at  his  hand  unjustly. 
He  would  think  of  her  as  nothing  else  than  a  vile  creat 
ure,  who  had  caught  his  son  in  the  toils  of  her  beauty 
and  charm,  for  the  purpose  of  eventually  making  money 
out  of  the  intrigue. 

Gilder,  in  his  library  this  night,  was  pacing  impa 
tiently  to  and  fro,  eagerly  listening  for  the  sound  of 
his  son's  return  to  the  house.  He  had  been  the  guest 
of  honor  that  night  at  an  important  meeting  of  the  Civic 
Committee,  and  he  had  spoken  with  his  usual  clarity 
and  earnestness  in  spite  of  the  trouble  that  beset  him. 


200  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Now,  however,  the  regeneration  of  the  city  was  far 
from  his  thought,  and  his  sole  concern  was  with  the  re 
generation  of  a  life,  that  of  his  son,  which  bade  fair  to 
be  ruined  by  the  wiles  of  a  wicked  woman.  He  was 
anxious  for  the  coming  of  Dick,  to  whom  he  would 
make  one  more  appeal.  If  that  should  fail — well,  he 
must  use  the  influences  at  his  command  to  secure  the 
forcible  parting  of  the  adventuress  from  his  son. 

The  room  in  which  he  paced  to  and  fro  was  of  a 
solid  dignity,  well  fitted  to  serve  as  an  environment  for 
its  owner.  It  was  very  large,  and  lofty.  There  was 
massiveness  in  the  desk  that  stood  opposite  the  hall 
door,  near  a  window.  This  particular  window  itself 
Was  huge,  high,  jutting  in  octagonal,  with  leaded  panes. 
In  addition,  there  was  a  great  fireplace  set  with  tiles, 
around  which  was  woodwork  elaborately  carved,  the 
fruit  of  patient  questing  abroad.  On  the  walls  were 
hung  some  pieces  of  tapestry,  where  there  were  not 
bookcases.  Over  the  octagonal  window,  too,  such 
draperies  fell  in  stately  lines.  Now,  as  the  magnate 
paced  back  and  forth,  there  was  only  a  gentle  light  in 
the  room,  from  a  reading-lamp  on  his  desk.  The  huge 
chandelier  was  unlighted.  ...  It  was  even  as  Gilder, 
in  an  increasing  irritation  over  the  delay,  had  thrown 
himself  down  on  a  couch  which  stood  just  a  little  way* 
within  an  alcove,  that  he  heard  the  outer  door  open  and 
shut.  He  sprang  up  with  an  ejaculation  of  satisfac 
tion. 

"Dick,  at  last!"  he  muttered. 

It  was,  in  truth,  the  son.   A  moment  later,  he  entered 


AFTERMATH  OF  TRAGEDY  201 

the  room,  and  went  at  once  to  his  father,  who-  was 
standing  waiting,  facing  the  door. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry  I'm  so  late,  Dad,"  he  said  simply. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  the  father  demanded 
gravely.  But  there  was  great  affection  in  the  flash  of 
his  gray  eyes  as  he  scanned  the  young  man's  face,  and 
the  touch  of  the  hand  that  he  put  on  Dick's  shoulder 
was  very  tender.  "With  that  woman  again?" 

The  boy's  voice  was  disconsolate  as  he  replied: 

"No,  father,  not  with  her.    She  won't  see  me." 

The  older  man  snorted  a  wrathful  appreciation. 

"Naturally!"  he  exclaimed  with  exceeding  bitterness 
In  the  heavy  voice.  "She's  got  all  she  wanted  from  you 
— my  name!"  Fie  repeated  the  words  with  a  grimace 
of  exasperation:  "My  name!" 

There  was  a  novel  dignity  in  the  son's  tone  as  he 
spoke. 

"It's  mine,  too,  you  know,  sir,"  he  said  quietly. 

The  father  was  impressed  of  a  sudden  with  the  fact 
that,  while  this  affair  was  of  supreme  import  to  him 
self,  it  was,  after  all,  of  still  greater  significance  to  his 
son.  To  himself,  the  chief  concerns  were  of  the  worldly 
kind.  To  this  boy,  the  vital  thing  was  something  deep 
er,  something  of  the  heart :  for,  however  absurd  his  feel 
ing,  the  truth  remained  that  he  loved  the  woman.  Yes, 
it  was  the  son's  name  that  Mary  Turner  had  taken,  as 
well  as  that  of  his  father.  In  the  case  of  the  son,  she 
had  taken  not  only  his  name,  but  his  very  life.  Yes,  it 
was,  indeed,  Dick's  tragedy.  Whatever  he,  the  father, 
might  feel,  the  son  was,  after  all,  more  affected.  He 


202  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

must  suffer  more,  must  lose  more,  must  pay  more  with 
happiness  for  his  folly. 

Gilder  looked  at.his  son  with  a  strange,  new  respect, 
but  he  could  not  let  the  situation  go  without  protest, 
protest  of  the  most  vehement. 

"Dick,"  he  cried,  and  his  big  voice  was  shaken  a  lit 
tle  by  the  force  of  his  emotion;  "boy,  you  are  all  I 
have  in  the  world.  You  will  have  to  free  yourself  from 
this  woman  somehow."  He  stood  very  erect,  staring 
steadfastly  out  of  his  clear  gray  eyes  into  those  of  his 
son.  His  heavy  face  was  rigid  with  feeling;  the  coarse 
mouth  bent  slightly  in  a  smile  of  troubled  fondness,  as 
he  added  more  softly:  "You  owe  me  that  much." 

The  son's  eyes  met  his  father's  freely.  There  was 
respect  in  them,  and  affection,  but  there  was  something 
else,  too,  something  the  older  man  recognized  as  be 
yond  his  control.  He  spoke  gravely,  with  a  deliberate 
conviction. 

"I  owe  something  to  her,  too,  Dad." 

But  Gilder  would  not  let  the  statement  go  unchal 
lenged.  His  heavy  voice  rang  out  rebukingly,  over- 
toned  with  protest. 

"What  can  you  owe  her?"  he  demanded  indignantly. 
"She  tricked  you  into  the  marriage.  Why,  legally,  it's 
not  even  that.  There's  been  nothing  more  than  a  wed 
ding  ceremony.  The  courts  hold  that  that  is  only  a 
part  of  the  marriage  actually.  The  fact  that  she  doesn't 
receive  you  makes  it  simpler,  too.  It  can  be  arranged. 
We  must  get  you  out  of  the  scrape." 

He  turned  and  went  to  the  desk,  as  if  to  sit,  but  he 


AFTERMATH  OF  TRAGEDY  203 

was  halted  by  his  son's  answer,  given  very  gently,  yet 
with  a  note  of  finality  that  to  the  father's  ear  rang  like 
the  crack  of  doom. 

"I'm  not  sure  that  I  want  to  get  out  of  it,  father." 
That  was  all,  but  those  plain  words  summed  the  sit 
uation,  made  the  issue  a  matter  not  of  advice,  but  of 
the  heart. 

Gilder  persisted,  however,  in  trying  to  evade  the  in 
tegral  fact  of  his  son's  feeling.    Still  he  tried  to  fix  the 
issue  on  the  known  unsavory  reputation  of  the  woman. 
"You  want  to   stay  married  to  this  jail-bird  I"   he 
stormed. 

A  gust  of  fury  swept  the  boy.  He  loved  the  woman, 
in  spite  of  all;  he  respected  her,  even  reverenced  her. 
To  hear  her  thus  named  moved  him  to  a  rage  almost 
beyond  his  control.  But  he  mastered  himself.  He  re 
membered  that  the  man  who  spoke  loved  him;  he  re 
membered,  too,  that  the  word  of  opprobrium  was  no 
more  than  the  truth,  however  offensive  it  might  be  to 
his  sensitiveness.  He  waited  a  moment  until  he  could 
hold  his  voice  even.  Then  his  words  were  the  sternest 
protest  that  could  have  been  uttered,  though  they  came 
from  no  exercise  of  thought,  only  out  of  the  deeps  of 
his  heart. 

"I'm  very  fond  of  her." 

That  was  all.  But  the  simple  sincerity  of  the  saying 
griped  the  father's  mood,  as  no  argument  could  have 
done.-  There  was  a  little  silence.  After  all,  what  could 
meet  such  loving  loyalty  ? 


204  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

When  at  last  he  spoke,  Gilder's  voice  was  subdued, 
a  little  husky. 

"Now,  that  you  know?"  he  questioned. 
There  was  no  faltering  in  the  answer. 
"Now,  that  I  know,"  Dick    said    distinctly.      Then 
abruptly,  the  young  man  spoke  with  the  energy  of  per 
fect  faith  in  the  woman.    "Don't  you  see,  father?  Why, 
she  is  justified  in  a  way,  in  her  own  mind  anyhow,  I 
mean.     She  was  innocent  when  she  was  sent  to  prison. 

She  feels  that  the  world  owes  her " 

But  the  older  man  would  not  permit  the  assertion  to 
go  uncontradicted.  That  reference  to  the  woman's  in 
nocence  was  an  arraignment  of  himself,  for  it  had  been 
he  who  sent  her  to  the  term  of  imprisonment. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  her  innocence!"  he  said,  and 
his  voice  was  ominous.  "I  suppose  next  you  will  argue 
that,  because  she's  been  clever  enough  to  keep  within 
the  law,  since  she's  got  out  of  State  Prison,  she's  not  a 
criminal.  But  let  me  tell  you — crime  is  crime,  whether 
the  law  touches  it  in  the  particular  case,  or  whether  it 
doesn't." 

Gilder  faced  his  son  sternly  for  a  moment,  and  then 
presently  spoke  again  with  deeper  earnestness. 

"There's  only  one  course  open  to  you,  my  boy.  You 
must  give  this  girl  up." 

The  son  met  his  father's  gaze  with  a  level  look  in 
which  there  was  no  weakness. 

"I've  told  you,  Dad "  he  began. 

"You  must,  I  tell  you,"  the  father  insisted.  Then  he 
went  on  quickly,  with  a  tone  of  utmost  positiveness.  "If 


AFTERMATH  OF  TRAGEDY  205 

you  don't,  what  are  you  going  to  do  the  day  your  wife  is 
thrown  into  a  patrol  wagon  and  carried  to  Police  Head 
quarters — for  it's  sure  to  happen?  The  cleverest  of 
people  make  mistakes,  and  some  day  she'll  make  one." 

Dick  threw  out  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  supreme 
denial.  He  was  furious  at  this  supposition  that  she 
would  continue  in  her  irregular  practises. 

But  the  father  went  on  remorselessly. 

"They  will  stand  her  up  where  the  detectives  will  walk 
past  her  with  masks  on  their  faces.  Her  picture,  of 
course,  is  already  in  the  Rogues'  Gallery,  but  they  will 
take  another.  Yes,  and  the  imprints  of  her  fingers,  and 
the  measurements  of  her  body." 

The  son  was  writhing  under  the  words.  The  woman 
of  whom  these  things  were  said  was  the  woman  whom 
he  loved.  It  was  blasphemy  to  think  of  her  in  such 
case,  subjected  to  the  degradation  of  these  processes. 
Yet,  every  word  had  in  it  the  piercing,  horrible  sting 
of  truth.  His  face  whitened.  He  raised  a  supplicating 
hand. 

"Father!" 

"That's  what  they  will  do  to  your  wife,"  Gilder  went 
on  harshly;  "to  the  woman  who  bears  your  name  and 
mine."  There  was  a  little  pause,  and  the  father  stood 
rigid,  menacing.  The  final  question  came  rasping. 
"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

Dick  went  forward  until  he  was  close  to  his  father. 
Then  he  spoke  with  profound  conviction. 

"It  will  never  happen.     She  will  go  straight,  Dad. 


206  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

That  I  know.    You  would  know  it  if  you  only  knew  her 
as  I  do." 

Gilder  once  again  put  his  hand  tenderly  on  his  son's 
shoulder.  His  voice  was  modulated  to  an  unaccustomed 
mildness  as  he  spoke. 

"Be  sensible,  boy,n  he  pleaded  softly.    "Be  sensible  I" 

Dick  dropped  down  on  the  couch,  and  made  his  an 
swer  very  gently,  his  eyes  unseeing  as  he  dwelt  on  the 
things  he  knew  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

"Why,  Dad,"  he  said,  "she  is  young.  She's  just  like 
a  child  in  a  hundred  ways.  She  loves  the  trees  and  the 
grass  and  the  flowers — and  everything  that's  simple  and 
real !  And  as  for  her  heart — "  His  voice  was  low  and 
very  tender:  "Why,  her  heart  is  the  biggest  I've  ever 
known.  It's  just  overflowing  with  sweetness  and  kind 
ness.  I've  seen  her  pick  up  a  baby  that  had  fallen  in 
the  street,  and  mother  it  in  a  way  that — well,  no  one 
could  do  it  as  she  did  it,  unless  her  soul  was  clean." 

The  father  was  silent,  a  little  awed.  He  made  an 
effort  to  shake  off  the  feeling,  and  spoke  with  a  sneer. 

"You  heard  what  she  said  yesterday,  and  you  still 
are  such  a  fool  as  to  think  that." 

The  answer  of  the  son  came  with  an  immutable  final-  i 
ity,  the  sublime  faith  of  love. 

"I  don't  think— I  know!" 

Gilder  was  in  despair.  What  argument  could  avail 
him?  He  cried  out  sharply  in  desperation. 

"Do  you  realize  what  you're  doing?  Don't  go  to 
smash,  Dick,  just  at  the  beginning  of  your  life.  Oh,  I 


AFTERMATH  OF  TRAGEDY  207 

beg  you,  boy,  stop !  Put  this  girl  out  of  your  thoughts 
and  start  fresh." 

The  reply  was  of  the  simplest,  and  it  was  the  end  of 
argument. 

"Father,"  Dick  said,  very  gently,  "I  can't." 

There  followed  a  little  period  of  quiet  between  the 
two.  The  father,  from  his  desk,  stood  facing  his  son, 
who  thus  denied  him  in  all  honesty  because  the  heart  so 
commanded.  The  son  rested  motionless  and  looked 
with  unflinching  eyes  into  his  father's  face.  In  the  gaze 
of  each  was  a  great  affection. 

"You're  all  I  have,  my  boy,"  the  older  man  said  at 
last.  And  now  the  big  voice  was  a  mildest  whisper  of 
love. 

"Yes,  Dad,"  came  the  answer — another  whisper,  since 
it  is  hard  to  voice  the  truth  of  feeling  such  as  this.  "If 
I  could  avoid  it,  I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for  anything  in  the 
world.  I'm  sorry,  Dad,  awfully  sorry "  He  hesi 
tated,  then  his  voice  rang  out  clearly.  There  was  in 
his  tone,  when  he  spoke  again,  a  recognition  of  that 
loneliness  which  is  the  curse  and  the  crown  of  being: 

"But,"  he  ended,  "I  must  fight  this  out  by  myself — 
fight  it  out  in  my  own  way.  .  .  .  And  I'm  going  to 
do  it!" 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

BURKE  PLOTS. 

The  butler  entered. 
"A  man  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said. 
Gilder  made  a  gesture  of  irritation,  as  he  sank  into 
the  chair  at  his  desk. 

"I  can't  see  any  one  to-night,  Thomas,"  he  exclaimed, 

sharply. 

"But  he  said  it  was  most  important,  sir,"  the  servant 
went  on.    He  held  out  the  tray  insistently. 

The  master  took  the  card  grudgingly.     As  his  eyes 
caught  the  name,  his  expression  changed  slightly. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "show  him  up."     His  glance 
met  the  wondering  gaze  of  his  son. 

"It's  Burke,"  he  explained. 

"What  on  earth  can  he  want— at  this  time  of  night?" 
Dick  exclaimed. 

The  father  smiled  grimly. 

"You  may  as  well  get  used  to  visits  from  the  police." 
There  was  something  ghastly  in  the  effort  toward  play 
fulness. 

A  moment  later,  Inspector  Burke  entered  the  room. 

"Oh,  you're  here,  too,"  he  said,  as  his  eyes  fell  on 
Dick.  "That's  good.  I  wanted  to  see  you,  too." 

Inspector  Burke  was,  in  fact,  much  concerned  over 

208 


BURKE  PLOTS  209 

the  situation  that  had  developed.  He  was  a  man  of 
undoubted  ability,  and  he  took  a  keen  professional 
pride  in  his  work.  He  possessed  the  faults  of  his  class, 
was  not  too  scrupulous  where  he  saw  a  safe  opportunity 
to  make  a  snug  sum  of  money  through  the  employment 
of  his  official  authority,  was  ready  to  truckle  to  those 
whose  influence  could  help  or  hinder  his  ambition.  But, 
in  spite  of  these  ordinary  defects,  he  was  fond  of  his 
work  and  wishful  to  excel  in  it.  Thus,  Mary  Turner 
had  come  to  be  a  thorn  in  his  side.  She  flouted  his 
authority  and  sustained  her  incredible  effrontery  by  a 
restraining  order  from  the  court.  The  thing  was  out 
rageous  to  him,  and  he  set  himself  to  match  her  cun 
ning.  The  fact  that  she  had  involved  Dick  Gilder  with 
in  her  toils  made  him  the  more  anxious  to  overcome 
her  in  the  strife  of  resources  between  them.  After  much 
studying,  he  had  at  last  planned  something  that,  while 
it  would  not  directly  touch  Mary  herself,  would  at  least 
serve  to  intimidate  her,  and  as  well  make  further 
action  easier  against  her.  It  was  in  pursuit  of  this 
scheme  that  he  now  came  to  Gilder's  house,  and  the 
presence  of  the  young  man  abruptly  gave  him  another 
idea  that  might  benefit  him  well.  So,  he  disregarded 
Gilder's  greeting,  and  went  on  speaking  to  the  son, 

"She's  skipped!"  he  said,  triumphantly. 

Dick  made  a  step  forward.  His  eyes  flashed,  and 
there  was  anger  in  his  voice  as  he  replied: 

"I  don't  believe  it." 

The  Inspector  smiled,  unperturbed. 

"She  left  this  morning  for  Chicago,"  he  said,  lying 


2io  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

with  a  manner  that  long  habit  rendered  altogether  con 
vincing.  "I  told  you  she'd  go."  He  turned  to  the 
father,  and  spoke  with  an  air  of  boastful  good  nature. 
"Now,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  get  this  boy  out  of  the 
scrape  and  you'll  be  all  right." 

"If  we  only  could!"  The  cry  came  with  deepest 
earnestness  from  the  lips  of  Gilder,  but  there  was  little 
hope  in  his  voice. 

The  Inspector,  however,  was  confident  of  success,  and 
his  tones  rang  cheerfully  as  he  answered: 

"I  guess  we  can  find  a  way  to  have  the  marriage  an 
nulled,  or  whatever  they  do  to  marriages  that  don't 
take." 

The  brutal  assurance  of  the  man  in  thus  referring  to 
things  that  were  sacred,  moved  Dick  to  wrath. 

"Don't  you  interfere,"  he  said.  His  words  were 
spoken  softly,  but  tensely. 

Nevertheless,  Burke  held  to  the  topic,  but  an  inde 
finable  change  in  his  manner  rendered  it  less  offensive 
to  the  young  man. 

"Interfere!  Huh!"  he  ejaculated,  grinning  broadly. 
"Why,  that's  what  I'm  paid  to  do.  Listen  to  me,  son. 
The  minute  you  begin  mixing  up  with  crooks,  you  ain't 
'in  a  position  to  give  orders  to  any  one.  The  crooks 
have  got  no  rights  in  the  eyes  of  the  police.  Just  re 
member  that." 

The  Inspector  spoke  the  simple  truth  as  he  knew 
it  from  years  of  experience.  The  theory  of  the  law  is 
that  a  presumption  of  innocence  exists  until  the  accused 
is  proven  guilty.  But  the  police  are  out  of  sympathy 


BURKE  PLOTS  an 

with  such  finical  methods.  With  them,  the  crook  is 
presumed  guilty  at  the  outset  of  whatever  may  be 
charged  against  him.  If  need  be,  there  will  be  proof 
a-plenty  against  him — of  the  sort  that  the  underworld 
knows  to  its  sorrow. 

But  Dick  was  not  listening.  His  thoughts  were  again 
wholly  with  the  woman  he  loved,  who,  as  the  Inspector 
declared,  had  fled  from  him. 

"Where's  she  gone  in  Chicago?" 

Burke  answered  in  his  usual  gruff  fashion,  but  with  a 
note  of  kindliness  that  was  not  without  its  effect  on 
Dick. 

"I'm  no  mind-reader,"  he  said.  "But  she's  a  swell 
little  girl,  all  right.  I've  got  to  hand  it  to  her  for  that. 
So,  she'll  probably  stop  at  the  Blackstone — that  is,  un 
til  the  Chicago  police  are  tipped  off  that  she  is  in  town." 

Of  a  sudden,  the  face  of  the  young  man  took  on  a 
totally  different  expression.  Where  before  had  been 
anger,  now  was  a  vivid  eagerness.  He  went  close  to 
the  Inspector,  and  spoke  with  intense  seriousness. 

"Burke,"  he  said,  pleadingly,  "give  me  a  chance.  I'll 
leave  for  Chicago  in  the  morning.  Give  me  twenty- 
four  hours  start  before  you  begin  hounding  her." 

The  Inspector  regarded  the  speaker  searchingly.  His 
heavy  face  was  drawn  in  an  expression  of  apparent 
doubt.  Abruptly,  then,  he  smiled  acquiescence. 

"Seems  reasonable,"  he  admitted. 

But  the  father  strode  to  his  son. 

"No,  no,  Dick,"  he  cried.  "You  shall  not  go !  You 
shall  not  go!" 


2i«  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Burke,  however,  shook  his  head  in  remonstrance 
against  Gilder's  plea.  His  huge  voice  came  booming, 
weightily  impressive. 

"Why  not?"  he  questioned.  "It's  a  fair  gamble.  And, 
besides,  I  like  the  boy's  nerve." 

Dick  seized  on  the  admission  eagerly. 

"And  you'll  agree?"  he  cried. 

"Yes,  I'll  agree,"  the  Inspector  answered. 

"Thank  you,"  Dick  said  quietly. 

But  the  father  was  not  content.  On  the  contrary, 
he  went  toward  the  two  hurriedly,  with  a  gesture  of  re- 
proval. 

"You  shall  not  go,  Dick,"  he  declared,  imperiously. 

The  Inspector  shot  a  word  of  warning  to  Gilder  in 
an  aside  that  Dick  could  not  hear. 

"Keep  still,"  he  replied.     "It's  all  right." 

Dick  went  on  speaking  with  a  seriousness  suited  to 
the  magnitude  of  his  interests. 

'•'You  give  me  your  word,  Inspector,"  he  said,  "that 
you  won't  notify  the  police  in  Chicago  until  I've  been 
there  twenty-four  hours?" 

"You're  on,"  Burke  replied  genially.  "They  won't 
get  a  whisper  out  of  me  until  the  time  is  up."  He 
swung  about  to  face  the  father,  and  there  was  a  com 
plete  change  in  his  manner.  "Now,  then,  Mr.  Gilder," 
he  said  briskly,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  another 
little  matter " 

Dick  caught  the  suggestion,  and  interrupted  quickly. 

"Then  I'll  go."    He  smiled  rather  wanly  at  his  fath- 


BURKE  PLOTS  213 

er.  "You  know,  Dad,  I'm  sorry,  but  I've  got  to  do 
what  I  think  is  the  right  thing." 

Burke  helped  to  save  the  situation  from  the  growing 
tenseness. 

"Sure,"  he  cried  heartily;  "sure  you  have!  That's 
the  best  any  of  us  can  do."  He  watched  keenly  as  the 
young  man  went  out  of  the  room.  It  was  not  until  the 
door  was  closed  after  Dick  that  he  spoke.  Then  he 
dropped  to  a  seat  on  the  couch,  and  proceeded  to  make 
his  confidences  to  the  magnate. 

"He'll  go  to  Chicago  in  the  morning,  you  think,  don't 
you?" 

"Certainly,"  Gilder  answered.    "But  I  don't  like  it." 

Burke  slapped  his  leg  with  an  enthusiasm  that  might 
have  broken  a  weaker  member. 

"Best  thing  that  could  have  happened!"  he  vocifer 
ated.  And  then,  as  Gilder  regarded  him  in  astonish 
ment,  he  added,  chuckling:  "You  see,  he  won't  find  her 
there." 

"Why  do  you  think  that?"  Gilder  demanded,  greatly 
puzzled. 

Burke  permitted  himself  the  luxury  of  laughing  ap 
preciatively  a  moment  more  before  making  his  excla 
mation.  Then  he  said  quietly: 

"Because  she  didn't  go  there." 

"Where  did  she  go,  then?"  Gilder  queried,  wholly 
at  a  loss. 

Once  again  the  officer  chuckled.  It  was  evident  that 
he  was  well  pleased  with  his  own  ingenuity. 

"Nowhere  yet,"  he  said  at  last.    "But,  just  about  the 


2i4  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

time  he's  starting  for  the  West  I'll  have  her  down  at 
Headquarters.  Demarest  will  have  her  indicted  before 
noon.  She'll  go  for  trial  in  the  afternoon.  And  to 
morrow  night  she'll  be  sleeping  up  the  river.  ,.,  .  . 
That's  where  she  is  going." 

Gilder  stood  motionless  for  a  moment.  After  all, 
he  was  an  ordinary  citizen,  quite  unfamiliar  with  the 
recondite  methods  familiar  to  the  police. 

"But,"  he  said,  wonderingly,  "you  can't  do  that." 

The  Inspector  laughed,  a  laugh  of  disingenuous 
amusement,  for  he  understood  perfectly  the  lack  of  com 
prehension  on  the  part  of  his  hearer. 

"Well,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  sank  into  a  modest 
rumble  that  was  none  the  less  still  thunderous.  "Per 
haps  I  can't!"  And  then  he  beamed  broadly,  his  whole 
face  smiling  blandly  on  the  man  who  doubted  his  power. 
"Perhaps  I  can't,"  he  repeated.  Then  the  chuckle  came 
again,  and  he  added  emphatically:  "But  I  will!"  Sud 
denly,  his  heavy  face  grew  hard.  His  alert  eyes  shone 
fiercely,  with  a  flash  of  fire  that  was  known  to  every 
patrolman  who  had  ever  reported  to  the  desk  when  he 
was  lieutenant.  His  heavy  jaw  shot  forward  aggres 
sively  as  he  spoke. 

"Think  I'm  going  to  let  that  girl  make  a  joke  of  the 
Police  Department?  Why,  I'm  here  to  get  her — to 
stop  her  anyhow.  Her  gang  is  going  to  break  into 
your  house  to-night." 

"What?"  Gilder  demanded.  "You  mean,  she's  com 
ing  here  as  a  thief?" 

"Not  exactly,"  Inspector  Burke  confessed,  "but  her 


BURKE  PLOTS  215 

pals  are  coming  to  try  to  pull  off  something  right  here. 
She  wouldn't  come,  not  if  I  know  her.  She's  too  clever 
for  that.  Why,  if  she  knew  what  Garson  was  planning 
to  do,  she'd  stop  him." 

The  Inspector  paused  suddenly.  For  a  long  minute 
his  face  was  seamed  with  thought.  Then,  he  smote  his 
thigh  with  a  blow  strong  enough  to  kill  an  ox.  His 
face  was  radiant. 

"By  God!  I've  got  her!"  he  cried.  The  inspiration 
for  which  he  had  longed  was  his  at  last.  He  went  to 
the  desk  where  the  telephone  was,  and  took  up  the  re 
ceiver. 

"Give  me  3100  Spring,"  he  said.  As  he  waited  for 
the  connection  he  smiled  widely  on  the  astonished  Gil 
der.  "  'Tain't  too  late,"  he  said  joyously.  "I  must 
have  been  losing  my  mind  not  to  have  thought  of  it  be 
fore."  The  impact  of  sounds  on  his  ear  from  the  re 
ceiver  set  him  to  attention. 

"Headquarters?"  he  called.  "Inspector  Burke  speak 
ing.  Who's  in  my  office?  I  want  him  quick."  He 
smiled  as  he  listened,  and  he  spoke  again  to  Gilder. 
"It's  Smith,  the  best  man  I  have.  That's  luck,  if  you 
ask  me."  Then  again  he  spoke  into  the  mouthpiece  of 
the  telephone. 

"Oh,  Ed,  send  some  one  up  to  that  Turner  woman. 
You  have  the  address.  Just  see  that  she  is  tipped  off 
that  Joe  Garson  and  some  pals  are  going  to  break  into 
Edward  Gilder's  house  to-night.  Get  some  stool-pigeon 
to  hand  her  the  information.  You'd  better  get  to  work 
damned  quick.  Understand?" 


s  1 6  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

The  Inspector  pulled  out  that  watch  of  which  Aggie 
Lynch  had  spoken  so  avariciously,  and  glanced  at  it, 
then  went  on  speaking: 

"It's  ten-thirty  now.  She  went  to  the  Lyric  Theater 
with  some  woman.  Get  her  as  she  leaves,  or  find  her 
back  at  her  own  place  later.  You'll  have  to  hustle, 
anyhow.  That's  all!" 

The  Inspector  hung  up  the  receiver  and  faced  his 
host  with  a  contented  smile. 

"What  good  will  all  that  do?"  Gilder  demanded,  im 
patiently. 

Burke  explained  with  a  satisfaction  natural  to  one 
who  had  devised  something  ingenious  and  adequate. 
This  inspiration  filled  him  with  delight.  At  last  he  was 
sure  of  catching  Mary  Turner  herself  in  his  toils. 

"She'll  come  to  stop  'em,"  he  said.  "When  we 
get  the  rest  of  the  gang,  we'll  grab  her,  too.  Why,  I 
almost  forgot  her,  thinking  about  Garson.  Mr.  Gilder, 
you  would  hardly  believe  it,  but  there's  scarcely  been  a 
real  bit  of  forgery  worth  while  done  in  this  country 
for  the  last  twenty  years,  that  Garson  hasn't  been  mixed 
up  in.  We've  never  once  got  him  right  in  all  that  time." 
The  Inspector  paused  to  chuckle.  "Crooks  are  funny," 
he  explained  with  obvious  contentment.  "Clever  as  he 
is,  Garson  let  Griggs  talk  him  into  a  second-story  job, 
and  now  we'll  get  him  with  the  goods.  .  .  .  Just  call 
your  man  for  a  minute,  will  you,  Mr.  Gilder?" 

Gilder  pressed  the  electric  button  on  his  desk.  At 
the  same  moment,  through  the  octagonal  window  came 
a  blinding  flash  of  light  that  rested  for  seconds,  then 


BURKE  PLOTS  217 

vanished.  Burke,  by  no  means  a  nervous  man,  never 
theless  was  startled  by  the  mysterious  radiance. 

"What's  that?"  he  demanded,  sharply. 

"It's  the  flashlight  from  the  Metropolitan  Tower," 
Gilder  explained  with  a  smile  over  the  policeman's  per 
turbation.  "It  swings  around  this  way  about  every  fif 
teen  minutes.  The  servant  forgot  to  draw  the  curtains." 
As  he  spoke,  he  went  to  the  window,  and  pulled  the 
heavy  draperies  close.  "It  won't  bother  us  again." 

The  entrance  of  the  butler  brought  the  Inspector's 
thoughts  back  to  the  matter  in  hand. 

"My  man,"  he  said,  authoritatively,  "I  want  you  to 
go  up  to  the  roof  and  open  the  scuttle.  You'll  find 
some  men  waiting  up  there.  Bring  'em  down  here." 

The  servant's  usually  impassive  face  showed  aston 
ishment,  not  unmixed  with  dismay,  and  he  looked  doubt 
fully  toward  his  master,  who  nodded  reassuringly. 

"Oh,  they  won't  hurt  you,"  the  Inspector  declared, 
as  he  noticed  the  man's  hesitation.  "They're  police  offi 
cers.  You  get  'em. down  here,  and  then  you  go  to  bed 
and  stay  there  till  morning.  Understand?" 

Again,  the  butler  looked  at  his  master  for  guidance 
in  this  very  peculiar  affair,  as  he  deemed  it.  Receiving 
another  nod,  he  said  : 

"Very  well,  sir."  He  regarded  the  Inspector  with  a 
certain  helpless  indignation  over  this  disturbance  of  the 
natural  order,  and  left  the  room. 

Gilder  himself  was  puzzled  over  the  situation,  which 
was  by  no  means  clear  to  him. 

"How  do  you  know  they're  going  to  break  into  the 


2i 8  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

house  to-night?"  he  demanded  of  Burke;  "or  do  you 
only  think  they're  going  to  break  into  the  house?" 

"I  know  they  are."  The  Inspector's  harsh  voice 
brought  out  the  words  boastfully.  "I  fixed  it." 

"You  did!"  There  was  wonder  in  the  magnate's  ex 
clamation. 

"Sure,"  Burke  declared  complacently,  "did  it  through 
a  stool-pigeon." 

"Oh,  an  informer,"  Gilder  interrupted,  a  little  doubt 
fully. 

"Yes,"  Burke  agreed.  "Stool-pigeon  is  the  police 
name  for  him.  Really,  he's  the  vilest  thing  that  crawls." 

"But,  if  you  think  that,"  Gilder  expostulated,  "why 
do  you  have  anything  to  do  with  that  sort  of  person?" 

"Because  it's  good  business,"  the  Inspector  replied. 
"We  know  he's  a  spy  and  a  traitor,  and  that  every  time 
he  comes  near  us  we  ought  to  use  a  disinfectant.  But 
we  deal  with  him  just  the  same — because  we  have  to. 
Now,  the  stool-pigeon  in  this  trick  is  a  swell  English 
crook.  He  went  to  Garson  yesterday  with  a  scheme  to 
rob  your  house.  He  tried  out  Mary  Turner,  too,  but 
she  wouldn't  stand  for  it — said  it  would  break  the  law, 
which  is  contrary  to  her  principles.  She  told  Garson 
to  leave  it  alone.  But  he  met  Griggs  afterward  with 
out  her  knowing  anything  about  it,  and  then  he  agreed 
to  pull  it  off.  Griggs  got  word  to  me  that  it's  coming 
off  to-night.  And  so,  you  see,  Mr.  Gilder,  that's  how 
I  know.  Do  you  get  me?" 

"I  see,"  Gilder  admitted  without  any  enthusiasm.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  he  felt  somewhat  offended  that  his 


BURKE  PLOTS  219 

house  should  be  thus  summarily  seized  as  a  trap  for 
criminals. 

"But  why  do  you  have  your  men  come  down  over 
the  roof?"  he  inquired  curiously. 

"It  wasn't  safe  to  bring  them  in  the  front  way,"  was 
the  Inspector's  prompt  reply.  "It's  a  cinch  the  house 
is  being  watched.  I  wish  you  would  let  me  have  your 
latch-key.  I  want  to  come  back,  and  make  this  collar 

myself." 

The  owner  of  the  house  obediently  took  the  desired 
key  from  his  ring  and  gave  it  to  the  Inspector  with  a 
shrug  of  resignation. 

"But,  why  not  stay,  now  that  you  are  here?"  he 
asked. 

"Huh!"  Burke  retorted.  "Suppose  some  of  them 
saw  me  come  in?  There  wouldn't  be  anything  doing 
until  after  they  see  me  go  out  again." 

The  hall  door  opened  and  the  butler  reentered  the 
room.  Behind  him  came  Cassidy  and  two  other  detec 
tives  in  plain  clothes.  At  a  word  from  his  master,  the 
disturbed  Thomas  withdrew  with  the  intention  of  obey 
ing  the  Inspector's  directions  that  he  should  retire  to 
bed  and  stay  there,  carefully  avoiding  whatever  possi- 
i  bilities  of  peril  there  might  be  in  the  situation  so  foreign 
to  his  ideals  of  propriety. 

"Now,"  Burke  went  on  briskly,  as  the  door  closed  be 
hind  the  servant,  "where  could  these  men  stay  out  of 
sight  until  they're  needed?" 

There  followed  a  little  discussion  which  ended  in  the 
selection  of  a  store-room  at  the  end  of  the  passage  oo 


220  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

the  ground  floor,  on  which  one  of  the  library  doors 
opened. 

"You  see,'*  Burke  explained  to  Gilder,  when  this  mat 
ter  had  been  settled  to  his  satisfaction,  and  while  Cas- 
sidy  and  the  other  detectives  were  out  of  the  library  on  a 
tour  of  inspection,  "you  must  have  things  right,  when  it 
comes  to  catching  crooks  on  a  frame-up  like  this.  I  had 
these  men  come  to  Number  Twenty-six  on  the  other 
street,  then  round  the  block  on  the  roofs. " 

Gilder  nodded  appreciation  which  was  not  actually 
sincere.  It  seemed  to  him  that  such  elaborate  manceu- 
vering  was,  in  truth,  rather  absurd. 

"And  now,  Mr.  Gilder,"  the  Inspector  said  energet 
ically,  "I'm  going  to  give  you  the  same  tip  I  gave  your 
man.  Go  to  bed,  and  stay  there." 

"But  the  boy,"  Gilder  protested.  "What  about  him? 
He's  the  one  thing  of  importance  to  me." 

"If  he  says  anything  more  about  going  to  Chicago — 
just  you  let  him  go,  that's  all!  It's  the  best  place  for 
him  for  the  next  few  days.  I'll  get  in  touch  with  you 
in  the  morning  and  let  you  know  then  how  things  are 
coming  out." 

Gilder  sighed  resignedly.  His  heavy  face  was  lined 
with  anxiety.  There  was  a  hesitation  in  his  manner  of 
speech  that  was  wholly  unlike  its  usual  quick  decisive 
ness. 

"I  don't  like  this  sort  of  thing,"  he  said,  doubtfully. 
"I  let  you  go  ahead  because  I  can't  suggest  any  alterna 
tive,  but  I  don't  like  it,  not  at  all.  It  seems  to  me  that 
other  methods  might  be  employed  with  excellent  re- 


BURKE  PLOTS  221 

suits  without  the  element  of  treachery  which  seems  to 
involve  me  as  well  as  you  in  our  efforts  to  overcome 
this  woman." 

Burke,  however,  had  no  qualms  as  to  such  plotting. 
"You  must  have  crooked  ways  to  catch  crooks,  be 
lieve  me,"  he  said  cheerfully.     "It's  the  easiest  and 
quickest  way  out  of  the  trouble  for  us,  and  the  easiest 
and  quickest  way  into  trouble  for  them." 

The  return  of  the  detectives  caused  him  to  break  off, 
and  he  gave  his  attention  to  the  final  arrangements  of 
his  men. 

"You're  in  charge  here,"  he  said  to  Cassidy,  "and  I 
hold  you  responsible.  Now,  listen  to  this,  and  get  it." 
His  coarse  voice  came  with  a  grating  note  of  comnrand. 
"I'm  coming  back  to  get  this  bunch  myself,  and  I'll  call 
you  when  you're  wanted.  You'll  wait  in  the  store-room 
out  there  and  don't  make  a  move  till  you  hear  from  me, 
unless  by  any  chance  things  go  wrong  and  you  get  a 
call  from  Griggs.  You  know  who  he  is.  He's  got  a 
whistle,  and  he'll  use  it  if  necessary.  .  .  .  Got  that 
straight?"  And,  when  Cassidy  had  declared  an  entire 
understanding  of  the  directions  given,  he  concluded  con 
cisely.  "On  your  way,  then!" 

As  the  men  left  the  room,  he  turned  again  to  Gilder. 
"Just  one  thing  more,"  he  said.  "I'll  have  to  have 
your  help  a  little  longer.  After  I've  gone,  I  want  you 
to  stay  up  for  a  half-hour  anyhow,  with  the  lights  burn 
ing.  Do  you  see  ?  I  want  to  be  sure  to  give  the  Turner 
woman  time  to  get  here  while  that  gang  is  at  work. 
Your  keeping  on  the  lights  will  hold  them  back,  for 


222  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

they  won't  come  in  till  the  house  is  dark,  so,  in  half  an 
hour  you  can  get  off  the  job,  switch  off  the  lights  and 
50  to  bed  and  stay  there — just  as  I  told  you  before." 
Then  Inspector  Burke,  having  in  mind  the  great  distress 
of  the  man  over  the  unfortunate  entanglement  of  his 
son,  was  at  pains  to  offer  a  reassuring  word. 

"Don't  worry  about  the  boy,"  he  said,  with  grave 
kindliness.  "We'll  get  him  out  of  this  scrape  all  right." 
And  with  the  assertion  he  bustled  out,  leaving  the  un 
happy  father  to  miserable  forebodings. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

OUTSIDE  THE  LAW. 

Gilder  scrupulously  followed  the  directions  of  the  Po 
lice  Inspector.    Uneasily,  he  had  remained  in  the  library 
until  the  allotted  time  was  elapsed.     He  fidgeted  from 
place  to  place,  his  mind  heavy  with  distress  under  the 
shadow  that  threatened  to  blight  the  life  of  his  cherished 
son.    Finally,  with  a  sense  of  relief  he  put  out  the  lights 
and  went  to  his  chamber.     But  he  did  not  follow  the 
further  directions  given  him,  for  he  was  not  minded 
to  go  to  bed.     Instead,  he  drew  the  curtains  closely  to 
make  sure  that  no  gleam  of  light  could  pass  them,  and 
then  sat  with  a  cigar  between  his  lips,  which  he  did  not 
smoke,  though  from  time  to  time  he  was  at  pains  to  light 
it.    His  thoughts  were  most  with  his  son,  and  ever  as 
he  thought  of  Dick,  his  fury  waxed  against  the  woman 
who  had  enmeshed  the  boy  in  her  plotting  for  ven 
geance  on  himself.    And  into  his  thoughts  now  crept  a 
doubt,  one  that  alarmed  his  sense  of  justice.     It  oc 
curred  to  him  that  this  woman  could  not  have  thus  nour 
ished  a  plan  for  retribution  through  the  years  unless,  in 
deed,  she  had  been  insane,  even  as  he  had  claimed — 
or  innocent!     The  idea  was  appalling.     He  could  not 
bear  to  admit  the  possibility  of  having  been  the  invol 
untary  inflicter  of  such  wrong  as  to  send  the  girl  to 

223 


224  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

prison  for  an  offense  she  had  not  committed.  He  re 
jected  the  suggestion,  but  it  persisted.  He  knew  the 
clean,  wholesome  nature  of  his  son.  It  seemed  to  him 
incredible  that  the  boy  could  have  thus  given  his  heart 
to  one  altogether  undeserving.  A  horrible  suspicion 
that  he  had  misjudged  Mary  Turner  crept  into  his  brain, 
and  would  not  out.  He  fought  it  with  all  the  strength 
of  him,  and  that  was  much,  but  ever  it  abode  there.  He 
turned  for  comfort  to  the  things  Burke  had  said.  The 
woman  was  a  crook,  and  there  was  an  end  of  it.  Her 
ruse  of  spoliation  within  the  law  was  evidence  of  her 
shrewdness,  nothing  more. 

Mary  Turner  herself,  too,  was  in  a  condition  utterly 
wretched,  and  for  the  same  cause — Dick  Gilder.  That 
source  of  the  father's  suffering  was  hers  as  well.  She 
had  won  her  ambition  of  years,  revenge  on  the  man  who 
had  sent  her  to  prison.  And  now  the  joy  of  it  was  a 
torture,  for  the  puppet  of  her  plans,  the  son,  had  sud 
denly  become  the  chief  thing  in  her  life.  She  had  taken 
it  for  granted  that  he  would  leave  her  after  he  came  to 
know  that  her  marriage  to  him  was  only  a  device  to 
bring  shame  on  his  father.  Instead,  he  loved  her.  That 
fact  seemed  the  secret  of  her  distress.  He  loved  her. 
More,  he  dared  believe,  and  to  assert  boldly,  that  she 
loved  him.  Had  he  acted  otherwise,  the  matter  would 
have  been  simple  enough.  .  .  .  But  he  loved  her,  loved 
her  still,  though  he  knew  the  shame  that  had  clouded 
her  life,  knew  the  motive  that  had  led  her  to  accept  him 
as  a  husband.  More — by  a  sublime  audacity,  he  de 
clared  that  she  loved  him. 


OUTSIDE  THE  LAW  225 

There  came  a  thrill  in  her  heart  each  time  she  thought 
of  that — that  she  loved  him.  The  idea  was  monstrous, 

of  course,  and  yet Here,  as  always,, she  broke  off, 

a  hot  flush  blazing  in  her  cheeks.  .  .  .  Nevertheless, 
such  curious  fancies  pursued  her  through  the  hours. 
She  strove  her  mightiest  to  rid  herself  of  them,  but  in 
vain.  Ever  they  persisted.  She  sought  to  oust  them 
by  thinking  of  any  one  else,  of  Aggie,  of  Joe.  There 
at  last  was  satisfaction.  Her  interference  between  the 
man  who  had  saved  her  life  and  the  temptation  of  the 
English  crook  had  prevented  a  dangerous  venture,  which 
might  have  meant  ruin  to  the  one  whom  she  esteemed 
for  his  devotion  to  her,  if  for  no  other  reason.  At 
least,  she  had  kept  him  from  the  outrageous  folly  of  an 
ordinary  burglary. 

Mary  Turner  was  just  ready  for  bed  after  her  even 
ing  at  the  theater,  when  she  was  rudely  startled  out  of 
this  belief.  A  note  came  by  a  messenger  who  waited 
for  no  answer,  as  he  told  the  yawning  maid.  As  Mary 
read  the  roughly  scrawled  message,  she  was  caught  in 
the  grip  of  terror.  Some  instinct  warned  her  that  this 
danger  was  even  worse  than  it  seemed.  The  man  who 
had  saved  her  from  death  had  yielded  to  temptation. 
Even  now,  he  was  engaged  in  committing  that  crime 
which  she  had  forbidden  him.  As  he  had  saved  her,  so 
she  must  save  him.  She  hurried  into  the  gown  she  had 
just  put  off.  Then  she  went  to  the  telephone-book  and 

searched  for  the  number  of  Gilder's  house. 

*  *  *  *  * 

It  was  just  a  few  moments  before  Mary  Turner  re- 


226  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

ccived  the  note  from  the  hands  of  the  sleepy  maid  that 
one  of  the  leaves  of  the  octagonal  window  in  the  library 
of  Richard  Gilder's  town  house  swung  open,  under  the 
persuasive  influence  of  a  thin  rod  of  steel,  cunningly 
used,  and  Joe  Garson  stepped  confidently  into  the  dark 
room. 

A  faint  radiance  of  moonlight  from  without  showed 
him  for  a  second  as  he  passed  between  the  heavy  drap 
eries.  Then  these  fell  into  place,  and  he  was  invisible, 
and  soundless  as  well.  For  a  space,  he  rested  motion 
less,  listening  intently.  Reassured,  he  drew  out  an 
electric  torch  and  set  it  glowing.  A  little  disc  of  light 
touched  here  and  there  about  the  room,  traveling  very 
swiftly,  and  in  methodical  circles.  Satisfied  by  the 
survey,  Garson  crossed  to  the  hall  door.  He  moved 
with  alert  assurance,  lithely  balanced  on  the  balls  of  his 
feet,  noiselessly.  At  the  hall  door  he  listened  for  any 
sound  of  life  without,  and  found  none.  The  door  into 
the  passage  that  led  to  the  store-room  where  the  detec 
tives  waited  next  engaged  his  business-like  attention. 
And  here,  again,  there  was  naught  to  provoke  his  sus 
picion. 

These  preliminaries  taken  as  measures  of  precaution, 
Garson  went  boldly  to  the  small  table  that  stood  behind 
the  couch,  turned  the  button,  and  the  soft  glow  of  an 
electric  lamp  illumined  the  apartment.  The  extin 
guished  torch  was  thrust  back  into  his  pocket.  After 
ward  he  carried  one  of  the  heavy  chairs  to  the  door  of 
the  passage  and  propped  it  against  the  panel  in  such 
wise  that  its  fall  must  give  warning  as  to  the  opening 


OUTSIDE  THE  LAW  227 

of  the  door.  His  every  action  was  performed  with  the 
maximum  of  speed,  with  no  least  trace  of  flurry  or  of 
nervous  haste.  It  was  evident  that  he  followed  a  def 
inite  program,  the  fruit  of  precise  thought  guided  by 
experience. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  now  everything  was  in  readi 
ness  for  the  coming  of  his  associates  in  the  commission 
of  the  crime.  There  remained  only  to  give  them  the 
signal  in  the  room  around  the  corner  where  they  waited 
at  a  telephone.  He  seated  himself  in  Gilder's  chair  at 
the  desk,  and  drew  the  telephone  to  him. 

"Give  me  999  Bryant,"  he  said.  His  tone  was  hardly 
louder  than  a  whisper,  but  spoken  with  great  distinct 
ness. 

There  was  a  little  wait.  Then  an  answer  in  a  voice 
he  knew  came  over  the  wire. 

But  Garson  said  nothing  more.  Instead,  he  picked 
up  a  penholder  from  the  tray  on  the  desk,  and  began 
tapping  lightly  on  the  rim  of  the  transmitter.  It  was 
a  code  message  in  Morse.  In  the  room  around  the  cor 
ner,  the  tapping  sounded  clearly,  ticking  out  the  message 
that  the  way  was  free  for  the  thieves'  coming. 

When  Garson  had  made  an  end  of  the  telegraphing, 
there  came  a  brief  answer  in  like  Morse,  to  which  he  re 
turned  a  short  direction. 

For  a  final  safeguard,  Garson  searched  for  and  found 
the  telephone  bell-box  on  the  surbase  below  the  octag 
onal  window.  It  was  the  work  of  only  a  few  seconds 
to  unscrew  the  bells,  which  he  placed  on  the  desk.  So 
simply  he  made  provision  against  any  alarm  from  this 


228  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

source.  He  then  took  his  pistol  from  his  hip-pocket, 
examined  it  to  make  sure  that  the  silencer  was  properly 
adjusted,  and  then  thrust  it  into  the  right  side-pocket  of 
his  coat,  ready  for  instant  use  in  desperate  emergency. 
Once  again,  now,  he  produced  the  electric  torch,  and 
lighted  it  as  he  extinguished  the  lamp  on  the  table. 

Forthwith,  Garson  went  to  the  door  into  the  hall, 
opened  it,  and,  leaving  it  ajar,  made  his  way  in  silence 
to  the  outer  doorway.  Presently,  the  doors  there  were 
freed  of  their  bolts  under  his  skilled  fingers,  and  one  of 
them  swung  wide.  He  had  put  out  the  torch  now,  lest 
its  gleam  might  catch  the  gaze  of  some  casual  passer 
by.  So  nicely  had  the  affair  been  timed  that  hardly  was 
the  door  open  before  the  three  men  slipped  in,  and  stood 
mute  and  motionless  in  the  hall,  while  Garson  refastened 
the  doors.  Then,  a  pencil  of  light  traced  the  length 
of  the  hallway  and  Garson  walked  quickly  back  to  the 
library.  Behind  him  with  steps  as  noiseless  as  his  own 
came  the  three  men  to  whom  he  had  just  given  the 
message. 

When  all  were  gathered  in  the  library,  Garson  shut 
the  hall  door,  touched  the  button  in  the  wall  beside  it, 
and  the  chandelier  threw  its  radiant  light  on  the  group. 

Griggs  was  in  evening  clothes,  seeming  a  very  elegant 
young  gentleman  indeed,  but  his  two  companions  were 
of  grosser  type,  as  far  as  appearances  went:  one,  Dacey, 
thin  and  wiry,  with  a  ferret  face ;  the  other,  Chicago 
Red,  a  brawny  ruffian,  whose  stolid  features  nevertheless 
exhibited  something  of  half-sullen  good  nature. 

"Everything  all  right  so  far,"  Garson  said  rapidly. 


OUTSIDE  THE  LAW  229 

He  turned  to  Griggs  and  pointed  toward  the  heavy 
hangings  that  shrouded  the  octagonal  window.  "Are 
those  the  things  we  want?"  he  demanded. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer  of  English  Eddie. 

"Well,  then,  we've  got  to  get  busy,"  Garson  went 
on.  His  alert,  strong  face  was  set  in  lines  of  eagerness 
that  had  in  it  something  of  fierceness  now. 

But,  before  he  could  add  a  direction,  he  was  halted 
by  a  soft  buzzing  from  the  telephone,  which,  though 
bell-less,  still  gave  this  faint  warning  of  a  call.  For  an 
instant,  he  hesitated  while  the  others  regarded  him 
doubtfully.  The  situation  offered  perplexities.  To  give 
no  attention  to  the  summons  might  be  perilous,  and  fail 
ure  to  respond  might  provoke  investigation  in  some 
urgent  matter;  to  answer  it  might  easily  provide  a 
larger  danger. 

"We've  got  to  take  a  chance."  Garson  spoke  his  de 
cision  curtly.  He  went  to  the  desk  and  put  the  receiver 
to  his  ear. 

There  came  again  the  faint  tapping  of  some  one  at 
the  other  end  of  the  line,  signaling  a  message  in  the 
Morse  code.  An  expression  of  blank  amazement,  which 
grew  in  a  flash  to  deep  concern,  showed  on  Garson's  face 
as  he  listened  tensely. 

"Why,  this  is  Mary  calling,"  he  muttered. 

"Mary  I"  Griggs  cried.  His  usual  vacuity  of  expres 
sion  was  cast  off  like  a  mask  and  alarm  twisted  his  feat 
ures.  Then,  in  the  next  instant,  a  crafty  triumph 
gleamed  from  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  she's  on,"  Garson  interpreted,  a  moment  later, 


230  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

as  the  tapping  ceased  for  a  little.  He  translated  in  a 
loud  whisper  as  the  irregular  ticking  noise  sounded 
again. 

"I  shall  be  there  at  the  house  almost  at  once.  I  am 
sending  this  message  from  the  drug  store  around  the 
corner.  Have  some  one  open  the  door  for  me  immedi 
ately/' 

"She's  coming  over,"  Griggs  cried  incredulously. 

"No,  I'll  stop  her,"  Garson  declared  firmly. 

"Right!     Stop  her,"  Chicago  Red  vouchsafed. 

But,  when,  after  tapping  a  few  words,  the  forger 
paused  for  the  reply,  no  sound  came. 

"She  don't  answer,"  he  exclaimed,  greatly  disconcert 
ed.  He  tried  again,  still  without  result.  At  that,  he 
hung  up  the  receiver  with  a  groan.  "She's  gone " 

"On  her  way  already,"  Griggs  suggested,  and  there 
was  none  to  doubt  that  it  was  so. 

"What's  she  coming  here  for?"  Garson  exclaimed 
harshly.  "This  ain't  no  place  for  her!  Why,  if  any 
thing  should  go  wrong  now " 

But  Griggs  interrupted  him  with  his  usual  breezy 
cheerfulness  of  manner. 

"Oh,  nothing  can  go  wrong  now,  old  top.  I'll  let  her 
in."  He  drew  a  small  torch  from  the  skirt-pocket  of 
his  coat  and  crossed  to  the  hall  door,  as  Garson  nodded 
assent. 

"God!  Why  did  she  have  to  come?"  Garson  mut 
tered,  filled  with  forebodings.  "If  anything  should  go 
wrong  now!" 

He  turned  back  toward  the  door  just  as  it  opened, 


OUTSIDE  THE  LAW  231 

and  Mary  darted  into  the  room  with  Griggs  following. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  he  demanded,  with  per 
emptory  savageness  in  his  voice,  which  was  a  tone  he 
had  never  hitherto  used  in  addressing  her. 

Mary  went  swiftly  to  face  Garson  where  he  stood  by 
the  desk,  while  Griggs  joined  the  other  two  men  who 
stood  shuffling  about  uneasily  by  the  fireplace,  at  a  loss 
over  this  intrusion  on  their  scheme.  Mary  moved  with 
a  lissome  grace  like  that  of  some  wild  creature,  but  as 
she  halted  opposite  the  man  who  had  given  her  back 
the  life  she  would  have  thrown  away,  there  was  only 
tender  pleading  in  her  voice,  though  her  words  were  an 
arraignment. 

"Joe,  you  lied  to  me." 

"That  can  be  settled  later,"  the  man  snapped.  His 
jaw  was  thrust  forward  obstinately,  and  his  clear  eyes 
sparkled  defiantly. 

"You  are  fools,  all  of  you  I"  Mary  cried.  Her  eyes 
darkened  and  distended  with  fear.  They  darted  from 
Garson  to  the  other  three  men,  and  back  again  in  re 
buke.  "Yes,  fools !  This  is  burglary.  I  can't  protect 
you  if  you  are  caught.  How  can  I?  Oh,  come!"  She 
held  out  her  hands  pleadingly  toward  Garson,  and  her 
voice  dropped  to  beseeching.  "Joe,  Joe,  you  must  get 
away  from  this  house  at  once,  all  of  you.  Joe,  make 
them  go." 

"It's  too  late,"  was  the  stern  answer.  There  was  no 
least  relaxation  in  the  stubborn  lines  of  his  face.  "We're 
here  now,  and  we'll  stay  till  the  business  is  done." 

Mary  went  a  step  forward.    The  cloak  she  was  wear- 


232  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

ing  was  thrown  back  by  her  gesture  of  appeal  so  that 
those  watching  saw  the  snowy  slope  of  the  shoulders 
and  the  quick  rise  and  fall  of  the  gently  curving  bosom. 
The  beautiful  face  within  the  framing  scarf  was  color 
less  with  a  great  fear,  save  only  the  crimson  lips,  of 
which  the  bow  was  bent  tremulously  as  she  spoke  her 
prayer. 

"Joe,  for  my  sake !" 

But  the  man  was  inexorable.  He  had  set  himself  to 
this  thing,  and  even  the  urging  of  the  one  person  in  the 
world  for  whom  he  most  cared  was  powerless  against 
his  resolve. 

"I  can't  quit  now  until  we've  got  what  we  came  here 
after/'  he  declared  roughly. 

Of  a  sudden,  the  girl  made  shift  to  employ  another 
sort  of  supplication. 

"But  there  are  reasons,"  she  said,  faltering.  A  cer 
tain  embarrassment  swept  her,  and  the  ivory  of  her 
cheeks  bloomed  rosily.  "I — I  can't  have  you  rob  this 
house,  this  particular  house  of  all  the  world."  Her 
eyes  leaped  from  the  still  obdurate  face  of  the  forger 
to  the  group  of  three  back  of  him.  Her  voice  was 
shaken  with  a  great  dread  as  she  called  out  to  them. 

"Boys,  let's  get  away!  Please,  oh,  please!  Joe,  for 
God's  sake!"  Her  tone  was  a  sob. 

Her  anguish  of  fear  did  not  swerve  Garson  from  his 
purpose. 

"I'm  going  to  see  this  through,"  he  said,  doggedly. 

"But,  Joe " 

"It's  settled,  I  tell  you." 


OUTSIDE  THE  LAW  233 

In  the  man's  emphasis  the  girl  realized  at  last  the  in- 
efficacy  of  her  efforts  to  combat  his  will.  She  seemed  to 
droop  visibly  before  their  eyes.  Her  head  sank  on  her 
breast.  Her  voice  was  husky  as  she  tried  to  speak. 

"Then "  She  broke  off  with  a  gesture  of  de 
spair,  and  turned  away  toward  the  door  by  which  she 
had  entered. 

But,  with  a  movement  of  great  swiftness,  Garson  got 
in  front  of  her,  and  barred  her  going.  For  a  few  sec- 
pnds  the  two  stared  at  each  other  searchingly  as  if  learn 
ing  new  and  strange  things,  each  of  the  other.  In  the 
girl's  expression  was  an  outraged  wonder  and  a  great 
terror.  In  the  man's  was  a  half-shamed  pride,  as  if  he 
exulted  in  the  strength  with  which  he  had  been  able  to 
maintain  his  will  against  her  supreme  effort  to  over 
throw  it. 

"You  can't  go,"  Garson  said  sharply.  "You  might 
be  caught." 

"And  if  I  were,"  Mary  demanded  in  a  flash  of  indig 
nation,  "do  you  think  I'd  tell?" 

There  came  an  abrupt  change  in  the  hard  face  of  the 
man.  Into  the  piercing  eyes  flamed  a  softer  fire  of  ten 
derness.  The  firm  mouth  grew  strangely  gentle  as  he 
replied,  and  his  voice  was  overtoned  with  faith. 

"Of  course  not,  Mary,"  he  said.  "I  know  you.  You 
would  go  up  for  life  first." 

Then  again  his  expression  became  resolute,  and  he 
spoke  imperiously. 

"Just  the  same,  you  can't  take  any  chances.    We'll 


234  WITHIN  THE  LAW. 

all  get  away  in  a  minute,  and  you'll  come  with  us."  He 
turned  to  the  men  and  spoke  with  swift  authority. 

"Come,"  he  said  to  Dacey,  uyou  get  to  the  light 
switch  there  by  the  hall  door.  If  you  hear  me  snap  my 
fingers,  turn  'em  off.  Understand?" 

With  instant  obedience,  the  man  addressed  went  to 
his  station  by  the  hall  door,  and  stood  ready  to  control 
the  electric  current. 

The  distracted  girl  essayed  one  last  plea.  The  mo 
mentary  softening  of  Garson  had  given  her  new  cour 


age. 

u 


Joe,  don't  do  this." 

"You  can't  stop  it  now,  Mary,"  came  the  brisk  retort. 
"Too  late.  You're  only  wasting  time,  making  it  dan 
gerous  for  all  of  us." 

Again  he  gave  his  attention  to  carrying  on  the  rob 
bery. 

"Red,"  he  ordered,  "you  get  to  that  door."  He 
pointed  to  the  one  that  gave  on  the  passageway  against 
which  he  had  set  the  chair  tilted.  As  the  man  obeyed, 
Garson  gave  further  instructions. 

"If  any  one  comes  in  that  way,  get  him  and  get  him 
quick.  You  understand?  Don't  let  him  cry  out." 

Chicago  Red  grinned  with  cheerful  acceptance  of  the 
issue  in  such  an  encounter.  He  held  up  his  huge  hand, 
widely  open. 

"Not  a  chance,"  he  declared,  proudly,  "with  that  over 
his  mug."  To  avoid  possible  interruption  of  his  move 
ments  in  an  emergency,  he  removed  the  chair  Garson 
had  placed  and  set  it  to  one  side,  out  of  the  way. 


OUTSIDE  THE  LAW  235 

"Now,  let's  get  to  work,"  Garson  continued  eagerly. 

Mary  spoke  with  the  bitterness  of  defeat. 

"Listen,  Joe !  If  you  do  this,  I'm  through  with  you. 
I  quit." 

Garson  was  undismayed  by  the  threat. 

"If  this  goes  through,"  he  countered,  "we'll  all  quit. 
That's  why  I'm  doing  it.  I'm  sick  of  the  game." 

He  turned  to  the  work  in  hand  with  increased  energy. 

"Come,  you,  Griggs  and  Red,  and  push  that  desk 
down  a  bit  so  that  I  can  stand  on  it."  The  two  men 
bent  to  the  task,  heedless  of  Mary's  frantic  protest. 

"No !  no  !  no !  no !  no,  Joe !" 

Red,  however,  suddenly  straightened  from  the  desk 
and  stood  motionless,  listening.  He  made  a  slight  hiss 
ing  noise  that  arrested  the  attention  of  the  others  and 
held  them  in  moveless  silence. 

"I  hear  something,"  he  whispered.  He  went  to  the 
keyhole  of  the  door  leading  into  the  passage.  Then  he 
whispered  again,  "And  it's  coming  this  way." 

At  the  words,  Garson  snapped  his  fingers.  The  room 
was  plunged  in  darkness. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  NOISELESS  DEATH. 

There  was  absolute  silence  in  the  library  after  the 
turning  of  the  switch  that  brought  the  pall  of  darkness. 
Long  seconds  passed,  then  a  little  noise — the  knob  of 
the  passage  door  turning.  As  the  door  swung  open, 
there  came  a  gasping  breath  from  Mary,  for  she  saw 
framed  in  the  faint  light  that  came  from  the  single 
burner  in  the  corridor  the  slender  form  of  her  husband, 
Dick  Gilder.  In  the  next  instant  he  had  stepped  within 
the  room  and  pulled  to  the  door  behind  him.  And  in 
that  same  instant  Chicago  Red  had  pounced  on  his  vic 
tim,  the  huge  hand  clapped  tight  over  the  young  man's 
mouth.  Even  as  his  powerful  arm  held  the  newcomer 
in  an  inescapable  embrace,  there  came  a  sound  of  scuf 
fling  feet  and  that  was  all.  Finally  the  big  man's  voice 
came  triumphantly. 

"I've  got  him." 

"It's  Dick!"  The  cry  came  as  a  wail  of  despair  from 
the  girl. 

At  the  same  moment,  Garson  flashed  his  torch,  and 
the  light  fell  swiftly  on  young  Gilder,  bowed  to  a 
kneeling  posture  before  the  couch,  half-throttled  by  the 
strength  of  Chicago  Red.  Close  beside  him,  Mary 
looked  down  in  wordless  despair  over  this  final  disaster* 

236 


THE  NOISELESS  DEATH  237 

of  the  night.  There  was  silence  among  the  men,  all  of 
whom  save  the  captor  himself  were  gathered  near  the 
fireplace. 

Garson  retired  a  step  farther  before  he  spoke  his 
command,  so  that,  though  he  held  the  torch  still,  he  like 
the  others  was  in  shadow.  Only  Mary  was  revealed 
clearly  as  she  bent  in  alarm  toward  the  man  she  had 
married.  It  was  borne  in  on  the  forger's  consciousness 
that  the  face  of  the  woman  leaning  over  the  intruder 
was  stronger  to  hold  the  prisoner  and  to  prevent  any 
outcry  than  the  might  of  Chicago  Red  himself,  and  so 
he  gave  the  order. 

"Get  away,  Red." 

The  fellow  let  go  his  grip  obediently  enough,  though 
with  a  trifle  of  regret,  since  he  gloried  in  his  physical 
prowess. 

Thus  freed  of  that  strangling  embrace,  Dick  stum 
bled  blindly  to  his  feet.  Then,  mechanically,  his  hand 
went  to  the  lamp  on  the  table  back  of  the  couch.  In 
the  same  moment  Garson  snapped  his  torch  to  darkness. 
When,  after  a  little  futile  searching,  Dick  finally  found 
the  catch,  and  the  mellow  streamed  forth,  he  uttered  an 
ejaculation  of  stark  amazement,  for  his  gaze  was  riv 
eted  on  the  face  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

"Good  God !"  It  was  a  cry  of  torture  wrung  from 
his  soul  of  souls. 

Mary  swayed  toward  him  a  little,  palpitant  with  fear 
• — fear  for  herself,  for  all  of  them,  most  of  all  for  him. 

"Hush!  hush!"  she  panted  warningly.  "Oh,  Dick, 
you  don't  understand." 


238  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Dick's  hand  was  at  his  throat.  It  was  not  easy  for 
him  to  speak  yet.  He  had  suffered  severely  in  the  pro 
cess  of  being  throttled,  and,  too,  he  was  in  the  clutch 
of  a  frightful  emotion.  To  find  her,  his  wife,  in  this 
place,  in  such  company — her,  the  woman  whom  he 
loved,  whom,  in  spite  of  everything,  he  had  honored, 
the  woman  to  whom  he  had  given  his  name !  Mary 
here!  And  thus! 

"I  understand  this,"  he  said  brokenly  at  last. 
"Whether  you  ever  did  it  before  or  not,  this  time  you 
have  broken  the  law."  A  sudden  inspiration  on  his 
own  behalf  came  to  him.  For  his  love's  sake,  he  must 
seize  on  this  opportunity  given  of  fate  to  him  for  mas 
tery.  He  went  on  with  a  new  vehemence  of  boldness 
that  became  him  well. 

"You're  in  my  hands  now.  So  are  these  men  as  well. 
Unless  you  do  as  I  say,  Mary,  I'll  jail  every  one  of 
them." 

Mary's  usual  quickness  was  not  lacking  even  now,  in 
this  period  of  extremity.  Her  retort  was  given  with 
out  a  particle  of  hesitation. 

"You  can't,"  she  objected  with  conviction.  "I'm  the 
only  one  you've  seen." 

"That's  soon  remedied,"  Dick  declared.  He  turned 
toward  the  hall  door  as  if  with  the  intention  of  lighting 
the  chandelier. 

But  Mary  caught  his  arm  pleadingly. 

"Don't,  Dick,"  she  begged.     "It's— it's  not  safe." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  was  his  indignant  answer.  He 
would  have  gone  on,  but  she  clung  the  closer.  He  was 


THE  NOISELESS  DEATH  239 

reluctant  to  use  over-much  force  against  the  one  whom 
he  cherished  so  fondly. 

There  came  a  diversion  from  the  man  who  had  made 
the  capture,  who  was  mightily  wondering  over  the 
course  of  events,  which  was  wholly  unlike  anything  in 
the  whole  of  his  own  rather  extensive  housebreaking 
experience. 

"Who's  this,  anyhow?"  Chicago  Red  demanded. 

There  was  a  primitive  petulance  in  his  drawling  tones. 

Dick  answered  with  conciseness  enough. 

"I'm  her  husband.    Who  are  you?" 

Mary  called  a  soft  admonition. 

"Don't  speak,  any  of  you,"  she  directed.  "You 
mustn't  let  him  hear  your  voices." 

Dick  was  exasperated  by  this  persistent  identification 
of  herself  with  these  criminals  in  his  father's  house. 

"You're  fighting  me  like  a  coward,"  he  said  hotly. 
His  voice  was  bitter.  The  eyes  that  had  always  been 
warm  in  their  glances  on  her  were  chill  now.  He 
turned  a  little  way  from  her,  as  if  in  instinctive  repug 
nance.  "You  are  taking  advantage  of  my  love.  You 
think  that  because  of  it  I  can't  make  a  move  against 
these  men.  Now,  listen  to  me,  I " 

"I  won't!"  Mary  cried.  Her  words  were  shrill  with 
mingled  emotions.  "There's  nothing  to  talk  about," 
she  went  on  wildly.  "There  never  can  be  between  you 
and  me." 

The  young  man's  voice  came  with  a  sonorous  firmness 
that  was  new  to  it.  In  these  moments,  the  strength  of 


24o  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

him,  nourished  by  suffering,  was  putting  forth  its  flower. 
His  manner  was  masterful. 

"There  can  be  and  there  will  be,"  he  contradicted. 
He  raised  his  voice  a  little,  speaking  into  the  shadows 
where  was  the  group  of  silent  men. 

"You  men  back  there !"  he  cried.  "If  I  give  you  my 
word  to  let  every  one  of  you  go  free  and  pledge  myself  • 
never  to  recognize  one  of  you  again,  will  you  make 
Mary  here  listen  to  me?  That's  all  I  ask.  I  want  a 
few  minutes  to  state  my  case.  Give  me  that.  Whether 
I  win  or  lose,  you  men  go  free,  and  I'll  forget  every 
thing  that  has  happened  here  to-night."  There  came 
a  muffled  guffaw  of  laughter  from  the  big  chest  of  Chi 
cago  Red  at  this  extraordinarily  ingenuous  proposal, 
while  Dacey  chuckled  more  quietly. 

Dick  made  a  gesture  of  impatience  at  this  open  deri 
sion. 

"Tell  them  I  can  be  trusted,"  he  bade  Mary  curtly. 

It  was  Garson  who  answered. 

"I  know  that  you  can  be  trusted,"  he  said,  "because 

I  know  you  lo "    He  checked  himself  with  a  shiver, 

and  out  of  the  darkness  his  face  showed  white. 

"You  must  listen,"  Dick  went  on,  facing  again  toward 
the  girl,  who  was  trembling  before  him,  her  eyes  by 
turns  searching  his  expression  or  downcast  in  unfamiliar 
confusion,  which  she  herself  could  hardly  understand. 

"Your  safety  depends  on  me,"  the  young  man  warned. 
"Suppose  I  should  call  for  help?" 

Garson  stepped  forward  threateningly. 

"You  would  only  call  once,"  he  said  very  gently,  yet 


THE  NOISELESS  DEA  TH  24 1 

most  grimly.  His  hand  went  to  the  noiseless  weapon 
in  his  coat-pocket. 

But  the  young  man's  answer  revealed  the  fact  that 
he,  too,  was  determined  to  the  utmost,  that  he  under 
stood  perfectly  the  situation. 

"Once  would  be  quite  enough,"  he  said  simply. 

Garson  nodded  in  acceptance  of  the  defeat.  It  may 
be,  too,  that  in  some  subtle  fashion  he  admired  this 
youth  suddenly  grown  resolute,  competent  to  control  a 
dangerous  event.  There  was  even  the  possibility  that 
some  instinct  of  tenderness  toward  Mary  herself  made 
him  desire  that  this  opportunity  should  be  given  for 
wiping  out  the  effects  of  misfortune  which  fate  hitherto 
had  brought  into  her  life. 

"You  win,"  Garson  said,  with  a  half-laugh.  He 
turned  to  the  other  men  and  spoke  a  command. 

"You  get  over  by  the  hall  door,  Red.  And  keep  your 
ears  open  every  second.  Give  us  the  office  if  you  hear 
anything.  If  we're  rushed,  and  have  to  make  a  quick 
get-away,  see  that  Mary  has  the  first  chance.  Get  that, 
all  of  you?" 

As  Chicago  Red  took  up  his  appointed  station,  Gar- 
son  turned  to  Dick. 

"Make  it  quick,  remember." 

He  touched  the  other  two  and  moved  back  to  the 
wall  by  the  fireplace,  as  far  as  possible  from  the  hus 
band  and  wife  by  the  couch. 

Dick  spoke  at  once,  with  a  hesitancy  that  betrayed  the 
depth  of  his  emotion. 

"Don't  you  care  for  me  at  all?"  he  asked  wistfully. 


242  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

The  girPs  answer  was  uttered  with  nervous  eagerness 
which  revealed  her  own  stress  of  fear. 

"No,  no,  no  1"  she  exclaimed,  rebelliously. 

Now,  however,  the  young  man  had  regained  som« 
measure  of  reassurance. 

"I  know  you  do,  Mary,"  he  asserted,  confidently;  "a 
little,  anyway.  Why,  Mary,"  he  went  on  reproach 
fully,  "can't  you  see  that  you're  throwing  away  every 
thing  that  makes  life  worth  while?  Don't  you  see. 
that?" 

There  was  no  word  from  the  girl.  Her  breast  was 
moving  convulsively.  She  held  her  face  steadfastly 
averted  from  the  face  of  her  husband. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  me?"  he  insisted. 

Mary's  reply  came  with  all  the  coldness  she  could 
command. 

"That  was  not  in  the  bargain,"  Mary  said,  indiffer 
ently. 

The  man's  voice  grew  tenderly  winning,  persuasive 
with  the  longing  of  a  lover,  persuasive  with  the  pity  of 
the  righteous  for  the  sinner. 

"Mary,  Mary!"  he  cried.  "You've  got  to  change. 
Don't  be  so  hard.  Give  the  woman  in  you  a  chance.** 

The  girl's  form  became  rigid  as  she  fought  for  self- 
control.  The  plea  touched  to  the  bottom  of  her  heart, 
but  she  could  not,  would  not  yield.  Her  words  rushed 
forth  with  a  bitterness  that  was  the  cover  of  her  dis 
tress. 

"I  am  what  I  am,"  she  said  sharply.  "I  can't  change. 
-Keep  your  promise,  now,  and  let's  get  out  of  this." 


"MARY,  HAVEN'T  YOU  EVER  WANTED  THE  THINGS  THAT  OTHER  WOMEN  HAVE 
.  .  .  SHELTER,  AND  CARE,  AND  THE  BIG  THINGS  OF  LIFE,  THE  THINGS  WORTH 
WHILE?  THEY'RE  ALL  READY  FOR  YOU  NOW,  MARY." 


THE  NOISELESS  DEA  TH  243 

Her  assertion  was  disregarded  as  to  the  inability  to 
change. 

"You  can  change,"  Dick  went  on  impetuously. 
"Mary,  haven't  you  ever  wanted  the  things  that  other 
women  have,  shelter,  and  care,  and  the  big  things  of 
Efe,  the  things  worth  while  ?  They're  all  ready  for  you, 
now,  Mary.  .  .  .  And  what  about  me?"  Reproach 
leaped  in  his  tone.  "After  all,  you've  married  me.  Now 
it's  up  to  you  to  give  me  my  chance  to  make  good.  I've 
never  amounted  to  much.  I've  never  tried  much.  I 
shall,  now,  if  you  will  have  it  so,  Mary;  if  you'll  help 
me.  I  will  come  out  all  right,  I  know  that — so  do  you, 
Mary.  Only,  you  must  help  me." 

"I  help  you!"  The  exclamation  came  from  the  girl 
in  a  note  of  incredulous  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  Dick  said,  simply.  "I  need  you,  and  you  need 
me.  Come  away  with  me." 

"No,  no  !"  was  the  broken  refusal.  There  was  a  great 
grief  clutching  at  the  soul  of  this  woman  who  had 
brought  vengeance  to  its  full  flower.  She  was  gasping. 
"No,  no !  I  married  you,  not  because  I  loved  you, 
but  to  repay  your  father  the  wrong  he  had  done  me.  I 
wouldn't  let  myself  even  think  of  you,  and  then — I 
realized  that  I  had  spoiled  your  life." 

"No,  not  spoiled  it,  Mary!  Blessed  it!  We  must 
prove  that  yet." 

"Yes,  spoiled  it,"  the  wife  went  on  passionately.  "If 
I  had  understood,  if  I  could  have  dreamed  that  I  could 

ever  care Oh,  Dick,  I  would  never  have  married 

for  anything  in  the  world." 


244  P7ITHIN  THE  LAW 

"But  now  you  do  realize,"  the  young  man  said  quiet 
ly.  "The  thing  is  done.  If  we  made  a  mistake,  it  is 
for  us  to  bring  happiness  out  of  that  error." 

"Oh,  can't  you  see?"  came  the  stricken  lament.  "I'm 
a  jail-bird!"  ' 

"But  you  love  me — you  do  love  me,  I  know!"  The 
young  man  spoke  with  joyous  certainty,  for  some  in 
flection  of  her  voice  had  told  the  truth  to  his  heart. 
Nothing  else  mattered.  "But  now,  to  come  back  to  this 
hole  we're  in  here.  Don't  you  understand,  at  last,  that 
you  can't  beat  the  law?  If  you're  caught  here  to-night, 
where  would  you  get  off — caught  here  with  a  gang  of 
burglars?  Tell  me,  dear,  why  did  you  do  it?  Why 
didn't  you  protect  yourself?  Why  didn't  you  go  to 
Chicago  as  you  planned?" 

"What?"  There  was  a  new  quality  in  Mary's  voice. 
A  sudden  throb  of  shock  masked  in  the  surface  indiffer 
ence  of  intonation. 

Dick  repeated  his  question,  unobservant  of  its  first 
effect. 

"Why  didn't  you  go  to  Chicago  as  you  had  planned?" 

"Planned?  With  whom?"  The  interrogation  came 
with  an  abrupt  force  that  cried  of  new  suspicions. 

"Why,  with  Burke."  The  young  man  tried  to  be  pa 
tient  over  her  density  in  this  time  of  crisis. 

"Who  told  you  that  I  had  arranged  any  such  thing  ?'r 
Mary  asked.  Now  the  tenseness  in  her  manner  got  the 
husband's  attention,  and  he  replied  with  a  sudden  grav 
ity,  apprehensive  of  he  knew  not  what. 

"Burke  himself  did." 


THE  NOISELESS  DEATH  245 

"When?'*  Mary  was  standing  rigid  now,  and  the 
rare  color  flamed  in  her  cheeks.  Her  eyes  were  blazing. 

"Less  than  an  hour  ago."  He  had  caught  the  con 
tagion  of  her  mood  and  vague  alarm  swept  him. 

"Where?"  came  the  next  question,  still  with  that  vital 
insistence. 

"In  this  room." 

"Burke  was  here?"  Mary's  voice  was  suddenly  cold, 
very  dangerous.  "What  was  he  doing  here?" 

"Talking  to  my  father." 

The  seemingly  simple  answer  appeared  the  last  straw 
to  the  girl's  burden  of  frenzied  suspicion.  Her  voice 
cut  fiercely  into  the  quiet  of  the  room,  imperious,  sav 
age. 

"Joe,  turn  on  that  light!  I  want  to  see  the  face  of 
every  man  in  this  room." 

Something  fatally  significant  in  her  voice  set  Garson 
a-leap  to  the  switch,  and,  in  the  same  second,  the  blaze 
of  the  chandelier  flamed  brilliantly  over  all.  The  others 
stood  motionless,  blinking  in  the  sudden  radiance — 
all  save  Griggs,  who  moved  stealthily  in  that  same  mo 
ment,  a  little  nearer  the  door  into  the  passage,  which 
was  nearest  to  him. 

But  Mary's  next  words  came  wholly  as  a  surprise, 
seemingly  totally  irrelevant  to  this  instant  of  crisis.  Yet 
they  rang  a-throb  with  an  hysterical  anxiety. 

"Dick,"  she  cried,  "what  are  those  tapestries  worth?" 
With  the  question,  she  pointed  toward  the  draperies  that 
shrouded  the  great  octagonal  window. 

The  young  man  was  plainly  astonished,  disconcerted 


246  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

as  well  by  the  obtrusion  of  a  sordid  detail  into  the  trag 
edy  of  the  time. 

"Why  in  the  world  do  you ?"  he  began,  impa 
tiently. 

Mary  stamped  her  foot  angrily  in  protest  against  the 
delay. 

"Tell  me — quick!"  she  commanded.  The  authority 
in  her  voice  and  manner  was  not  to  be  gainsaid, 

Dick  yielded  sullenly. 

"Oh,  two  or  three  hundred  dollars,  I  suppose,"  he 
answered.  "Why?" 

"Never  mind  that !"  Mary  exclaimed,  violently.  And 
now  the  girl's  voice  came  stinging  like  a  whiplash.  In 
Carson's  face,  too,  was  growing  fury,  for  in  an  instant 
of  illumination  he  guessed  something  of  the  truth. 
Mary's  next  question  confirmed  his  raging  suspicion. 

"How  long  have  you  had  them,  Dick?" 

By  now,  the  young  man  himself  sensed  the  fact  that 
something  mysteriously  baneful  lay  behind  the  frantic 
questioning  on  this  seemingly  trivial  theme. 

"Ever  since  I  can  remember,"  he  replied,  promptly. 

Mary's  voice  came  then  with  an  intonation  that 
, brought  enlightenment  not  only  to  Garson's  shrewd  per 
ceptions,  but  also  to  the  heavier  intelligences  of  Dacey 
and  of  Chicago  Red. 

"And  they're  not  famous  masterpieces  which  your 
father  bought  recently,  from  some  dealer  who  smug 
gled  them  into  this  country  ?"  So  simple  were  the  words 
of  her  inquiry,  but  under  them  beat  something  evil, 
deadly. 


THE  NOISELESS  DEA  TH  247 

The  young  man  laughed  contemptuously. 

"I  should  say  not!"  he  declared  indignantly,  for  he 
resented  the  implication  against  his  father's  honesty. 

"It's  a  trick  I  Burke's  done  it  I"  Mary's  words  came 
with  accusing  vehemence. 

There  was  another  single  step  made  by  Griggs  toward 
the  door  into  the  passage. 

Mary's  eye  caught  the  movement,  and  her  lips  sound 
lessly  formed  the  name : 

"Grlggs!" 

The  man  strove  to  carry  off  the  situation,  though  he 
knew  well  that  he  stood  in  mortal  peril.  He  came  a 
little  toward  the  girl  who  had  accused  him  of  treachery. 
He  was  very  dapper  in  his  evening  clothes,  with  his 
rather  handsome,  well-groomed  face  set  in  lines  of 
innocence. 

"He's  lying  to  you !"  he  cried  forcibly,  with  a  scorn 
ful  gesture  toward  Dick  Gilder.  "I  tell  you,  those  tapes 
tries  are  worth  a  million  cold." 

Mary's  answer  was  virulent  in  its  sudden  burst  of 
hate.  For  once,  the  music  of  her  voice  was  lost  in  a  dis 
cordant  cry  of  detestation. 

"You  stool-pigeon !     You  did  this  for  Burke  I" 

Griggs  sought  still  to  maintain  his  air  of  innocence, 
and  he  strove  well,  since  he  knew  that  he  fought  for  his 
life  against  those  whom  he  had  outraged.  As  he  spoke 
again,  his  tones  were  tremulous  with  sincerity — perhaps 
that  tremulousness  was  born  chiefly  of  fear,  yet  to  the 
ear  his  words  came  stoutly  enough  for  truth: 

"I  swear  I  didn't !     I  swear  it !" 


248  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Mary  regarded  the  protesting  man  with  abhorrence. 
The  perjured  wretch  shrank  before  the  loathing  in  her 
eyes. 

"You  came  to  me  yesterday,"  she  said,  with  more  of 
restraint  in  her  voice  now,  but  still  with  inexorable  ran 
cor.  "You  came  to  me  to  explain  this  plan.  And  you 
came  from  him — from  Burke !" 

"I  swear  I  was  on  the  level.  I  was  tipped  off  to  the 
story  by  a  pal,"  Griggs  declared,  but  at  last  the  assur 
ance  was  gone  out  of  his  voice.  He  felt  the  hostility 
of  those  about  him. 

Garson  broke  in  ferociously. 

"It's  a  frame-up !"  he  said.  His  tones  carne  in  a  dead 
ened  roar  of  wrath. 

On  the  instant,  aware  that  further  subterfuge  could 
be  of  no  avail,  Griggs  swaggered  defiance. 

"And  what  if  it  is  true?"  he  drawled,  with  a  resump 
tion  of  his  aristocratic  manner,  while  his  eyes  swept  the 
group  balefully.  He  plucked  the  police  whistle  from 
his  waistcoat-pocket,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips. 

He  moved  too  slowly.  In  the  same  moment  of  his 
action,  Garson  had  pulled  the  pistol  from  his  pocket, 
had  pressed  the  trigger.  There  came  no  spurt  of  flame. 
There  was  no  sound — save  perhaps  a  faint  clicking 
noise.  But  the  man  with  the  whistle  at  his  lips  suddenly 
ceased  movement,  stood  absolutely  still  for  the  space  of 
a  breath.  Then,  he  trembled  horribly,  and  in  the  next 
instant  crashed  to  the  floor,  where  he  lay  ri^id,  dead. 

"Damn  you — I've  got  you  !"  Garson  sneered  through 
clenched  teeth.  His  eyes  were  like  balls  of  fire.  There 


THE   NOISELESS  DEATH  249 

was  a  frightful  grin  of  triumph  twisting  his  mouth  in 
this  minute  of  punishment. 

In  the  first  second  of  the  tragedy,  Dick  had  not  un 
derstood.  Indeed,  he  was  still  dazed  by  the  sudden 
ness  of  it  all.  But  the  falling  of  Griggs  before  the  lev 
eled  weapon  of  the  other  man,  there  to  lie  in  that  ghast 
ly  immobility,  made  him  to  understand.  He  leaped  to 
ward  Garson — would  have  wrenched  the  pistol  from 
the  other's  grasp.  In  the  struggle,  it  fell  to  the  floor. 

Before  either  could  pick  it  up,  there  came  an  inter 
ruption.  Even  in  the  stress  of  this  scene,  Chicago  Red 
had  never  relaxed  his  professional  caution.  A  slight 
noise  had  caught  his  ear,  he  had  stooped,  listening. 
Now,  he  straightened,  and  called  his  warning. 

"Somebody's  opening  the  front  door!" 

Garson  forgot  his  weapon  in  this  new  alarm.  He 
sprang  to  the  octagonal  window,  even  as  Dick  took  pos 
session  of  the  pistol. 

"The  street's  empty!  We  must  jump  for  it!"  His 
hate  was  forgotten  now  in  an  emotion  still  deeper,  and 
he  turned  to  Mary.  His  face  was  all  gentleness  again, 
where  just  before  it  had  been  evil  incarnate,  aflame  with 
the  lust  to  destroy.  "Come  on,  Mary,"  he  cried. 

Already  Chicago  Red  had  snapped  off  the  lights  of 
the  chandelier,  had  sprung  to  the  window,  thrown  open 
a  panel  of  it,  and  had  vanished  into  the  night,  with 
Dacey  at  his  heels.  As  Garson  would  have  called  out 
to  the  girl  again  in  mad  anxiety  for  haste,  he  was  in 
terrupted  by  Dick: 

"She  couldn't  make  it,  Garson,"  he  declared  coolly 


WITHIN  THE  LAW 

and  resolutely.  uYou  go.  It'll  be  all  right,  you  know. 
I'll  take  care  of  her!" 

"If  she's  caught !"  There  was  an  indescribable 

menace  in  the  forger's  half-uttered  threat 

"She  won't  be."  The  quality  of  sincerity  in  Dick's 
voice  was  more  convincing  than  any  vow  might  have 
been. 

"If  she  is,  I'll  get  you,  that's  all,"  Garson  said  grave 
ly,  as  one  stating  a  simple  fact  that  could  not  be  dis 
puted. 

Then  he  glanced  down  at  the  body  of  the  man  whom 
he  had  done  to  death. 

"And  you  can  tell  that  to  Burke!"  he  said  viciously 
to  the  dead.  "You  damned  squealer!"  There  was  a 
supremely  malevolent  content  in  his  sneer. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

WITHIN  THE  TOILS. 

The  going  of  Garson  left  the  room  deathly  still. 
Dick  stared  for  a  moment  at  the  space  of  window  left 
uncovered  by  the  draperies  now,  since  the  man  had  hur 
ried  past  them,  without  pausing  to  draw  them  after  him. 
Then,  presently,  the  young  man  turned  again  to  Mary, 
and  took  her  hand  in  his.  The  shock  of  the  event  had 
somehow  steadied  him,  since  it  had  drawn  his  thoughts 
from  that  other  more  engrossing  mood  of  concern  over 
the  crisis  in  his  own  life.  After  all,  what  mattered  the 
death  of  this  crook?  his  fancy  ran.  The  one  thing  of 
real  worth  in  all  the  world  was  the  life  that  remained 
to  be  lived  between  him  and  her.  .  ^  .  Then,  violently, 
the  selfishness  of  his  mood  was  made  plain  to  him.  For 
the  hand  he  held  was  shaking  like  some  slender-stalked 
lily  in  the  clutch  of  the  sirocco.  Even  as  he  first  per^ 
ceived  the  fact,  he  saw  the  girl  stagger.  His  arm  swept 
about  her  in  a  virile  protecting  embrace — just  in  time, 
or  she  would  have  fallen. 

A  whisper  came  from  her  quivering  lips.  Her  face 
was  close  to  his,  else  he  could  not  have  caught  the  un 
certain  murmuring.  That  face  now  was  become  ghastly 
pale.  The  violet  eyes  were  widened  and  dull.  The 
muscles  of  her  face  twitched.  She  rested  supinely 

251 


252  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

against  him,  as  if  bereft  of  any  strength  of  body  or  of 
soul.  Yet,  in  the  intensity  of  her  utterance,  the  feeble 
whisper  struck  like  a  shriek  of  horror. 

"I — I — never  saw  any  one  killed  before !" 

The  simple,  grisly  truth  of  the  words — words  that  he 
might  have  spoken  as  well — stirred  the  man  to  the  deeps 
of  his  being.  He  shuddered,  as  he  turned  his  eyes  to 
avoid  seeing  the  thing  that  lay  so  very  near, 'merci 
fully  merged  within  the  shadows  beyond  the  gentle  radi 
ance  from  the  single  lamp.  With  a  pang  of  infinite  pity 
for  the  woman  in  his  arms,  he  apprehended  in  some 
degree  the  torture  this  event  must  have  inflicted  on  her. 
Frightful  to  him,  it  must  in  truth  be  vastly  worse  to  her. 
There  was  her  womanly  sensitiveness  to  enhance  the  in 
nate  hideousness  of  the  thing  that  had  been  done  here 
before  their  eyes,  There  was,  too,  the  fact  that  the 
murderer  himself  had  been  the  man  to  whom  she  owed 
her  life.  Yes,  for  him,  Dick  realized  with  poignant  sym 
pathy,  the  happening  that  night  was  terrible  indeed: 
for  her,  as  he  guessed  now  at  last,  the  torture  must  be 
something  easily  to  overwhelm  all  her  strength.  His 
touch  on  her  grew  tender  beyond  the  ordinary  tender 
ness  of  love,  made  gentler  by  a  great  underlying  com-  v 
passion  for  her  misery. 

Dick  drew  Mary  toward  the  couch,  there  let  her  sink 
'down  in  a  huddled  attitude  of  despair. 

"I  never  saw  a  man — killed  before!"  she  said  again. 
There  was  a  note  of  half-hysterical,  almost  childish 
complaint  in  her  voice.  She  moved  her  head  a  little, 
as  if  to  look  into  the  shadows  where  it  lay,  then  checked 


WITHIN  THE  TOILS  253 

herself  violently,  and  looked  up  at  her  husband  with  the 
pathetic  simplicity  of  terror. 

"You  know,  Dick,"  she  repeated  dully,  "I  never  saw 
a  man  killed  before." 

Before  he  could  utter  the  soothing  words  that  rose 
to  his  lips,  Dick  was  interrupted  by  a  slight  sound  at 
the  door.  Instantly,  he  was  all  alert  to  meet  the  exi 
gencies  of  the  situation.  He  stood  by  the  couch,  bend 
ing  forward  a  little,  as  if  in  a  posture  of  intimate  fond 
ness.  Then,  with  a  new  thought,  he  got  out  his  cigar 
ette-case  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  after  which  he  resumed 
his  former  leaning  over  the  woman  as  would  the  ardent 
lover.  He  heard  the  noise  again  presently,  now  so  near 
that  he  made  sure  of  being  overheard,  so  at  once  he 
spoke  with  a  forced  cheerfulness  in  his  inflection. 

"I  tell  you,  Mary,"  he  declared,  "everything's  going 
to  be  all  right  for  you  and  me.  It  was  bully  of  you  to 
come  here  to  me  like  this." 

The  girl  made  no  response.  She  lived  still  in  the 
nightmare  of  murder — that  nightmare  wherein  she  had 
seen  Griggs  fall  dead  to  the  floor. 

Dick,  in  nervous  apprehension  as  to  the  issue,  sought 
to  bring  her  to  realization  of  the  new  need  that  had 
come  upon  them. 

"Talk  to  me,"  he  commanded,  very  softly.  "They'll 
be  here  in  a  minute.  When  they  come  in,  pretend  you 
just  came  here  in  order  to  meet  me.  Try,  Mary.  You 
must,  dearest !"  Then,  again,  his  voice  rose  to  loudness, 
as  he  continued.  "Why,  I've  been  trying  all  day  to  see 
you.  And,  now,  here  we  are  together,  just  as  I  was  be- 


254  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

ginning  to  get  really  discouraged.  .  ...  I  know  my 
father  will  eventually " 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  swift  swinging  open  of 
the  hallway  door.  Burke  stood  just  within  the  library, 
a  revolver  pointed  menacingly. 

"Hands  up ! — all  of  you  I"  The  Inspector's  voice 
fairly  roared  the  command. 

The  belligerent  expression  of  his  face  vanished  abrupt 
ly,  as  his  eyes  fell  on  Dick  standing  by  the  couch  and 
Mary  reclining  there  in  limp  helplessness.  His  surprise 
would  have  been  ludicrous  but  for  the  seriousness  of  the 
situation  to  all  concerned.  Burke's  glance  roved  the  room 
sharply,  and  he  was  quickly  convinced  that  these  two 
were  in  fact  the  only  present  spoil  of  his  careful  plotting. 
His  face  set  grimly,  for  the  disappointment  of  this  min 
ute  surged  fiercely  within  him.  He  started  to  speak, 
his  eyes  lowering  as  he  regarded  the  two  before  him. 

But  Dick  forestalled  him.  He  spoke  in  a  voice  coldly 
repellent. 

"What  are  you  doing  in  this  house  at  this  time  of 
night?"  he  demanded.  His  manner  was  one  of  stern 
disapproval.  "I  recognize  you,  Inspector  Burke.  But 
you  must  understand  that  there  are  limits  even  to  what 
you  can  do.  It  seems  to  me,  sir,  that  you  exceed  your 
authority  by  such  an  intrusion  as  this." 

Burke,  however,  was  not  a  whit  dismayed  by  the  re 
buke  and  the  air  of  rather  contemptuous  disdain  with 
which  it  was  uttered.  He  waved  his  revolver  toward 
Mary,  merely  as  a  gesture  of  inquisitiveness,  without 
any  threat. 


WITHIN  THE  TOILS  255 

''What's  she  doing  here?"  he  asked.  There  was 
wrath  in  his  rough  voice,  for  he  could  not  avoid  the  sur 
mise  that  his  shrewdly  concocted  scheme  to  entrap  this 
woman  had  somehow  been  set  awry.  "What's  she  doing 
here,  I  say?"  he  repeated  heavily.  His  keen  eyes  were 
darting  once  more  about  the  room,  questing  some  clue 
to  this  disturbing  mystery,  so  hateful  to  his  pride. 

Dick's  manner  became  that  of  the  devoted  husband 
offended  by  impertinent  obtrusion. 

"You  forget  yourself,  Inspector,"  he  said,  icily.  "This 
is  my  wife.  She  has  the  right  to  be  with  me — her  hus 
band!" 

The  Inspector  grinned  sceptically.  He  was  moved  no 
more  effectively  by  Mary's  almost  hysterical  effort  to 
respond  to  her  husband's  leading. 

"Why  shouldn't  I  be  here?    Why?    Why?    I » 

Burke  broke  in  on  the  girl's  pitiful  histrionics  ruth 
lessly.  He  was  not  in  the  least  deceived.  He  was 
aware  that  something  untoward,  as  he  deemed  it,  had 
occurred.  It  seemed  to  him,  in  fact,  that  his  finical 
mechanisms  for  the  undoing  of  Mary  Turner  were  in 
a  fair  way  to  be  thwarted.  But  he  would  not  give  up 
the  cause  without  a  struggle.  Again,  he  addressed  him 
self  to  Dick,  disregarding  completely  the  aloof  manner 
of  the  young  man. 

"Where's  your  father?"  he  questioned  roughly. 
"In  bed,  naturally,"  was  the  answer.     "I    ask    you 
again:   What   are   you    doing   here   at   this    time   of 
night?" 


256  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Burke  shook  his  shoulders  ponderously  in  a  move 
ment  of  impatience  over  this  prolonging  of  the  farce. 

"Oh,  call  your  father,"  he  directed  disgustedly. 

Dick  remonstrated  with  an  excellent  show  of  dignity. 

"It's  late,"  he  objected.  "I'd  rather  not  disturb  him, 
if  you  don't  mind.  Really,  the  idea  is  absurd,  you 
know."  Suddenly,  he  smiled  very  winningly,  and  spoke 
with  a  good  assumption  of  ingenuousness. 

"Inspector,"  he  said  briskly,  "I  see,  I'll  have  to  tell 
you  the  truth.  It's  this:  I've  persuaded  my  wife  to  go 
away  with  me.  She's  going  to  give  all  that  other  sort 
of  thing  up.  Yes,  we're  going  away  together."  There 
was  genuine  triumph  in  his  voice  now.  "So,  you  see, 
we've  got  to  talk  it  over.  Now,  then,  Inspector,  if 
you'll  come  back  in  the  morning " 

The  official  grinned  sardonically.  He  could  not  in  the 
least  guess  just  what  had  in  very  deed  happened,  but 
he  was  far  too  clever  a  man  to  be  bamboozled  by  Dick's 
maunderings. 

"Oh,  that's  it!"  he  exclaimed,  with  obvious  incred 
ulity. 

"Of  course,"  Dick  replied  bravely,  though  he  knew 
that  the  Inspector  disbelieved  his  pretenses.  Still,  for 
his  own  part,  he  was  inclined  as  yet  to  be  angry  rather 
than  alarmed  by  this  failure  to  impress  the  officer.  "You 
see,  I  didn't  know " 

And  even  in  the  moment  of  his  saying,  the  white  beam 
of  the  flashing  searchlight  from  the  Tower  fell  between 
the  undrawn  draperies  of  the  octagonal  window.  The 
light  startled  the  Inspector  again,  as  it  had  done  once 


P7ITHIN  THE  TOILS  257 

before  that  same  night.  His  gaze  followed  it  instinc 
tively.  So,  within  the  second,  he  saw  the  still  form 
lying  there  on  the  floor — lying  where  had  been  shadows, 
where  now,  for  the  passing  of  an  instant,  was  brilliant 
radiance. 

There  was  no  mistaking  that  awful,  motionless, 
crumpled  posture.  The  Inspector  knew  in  this  single 
instant  of  view  that  murder  had  been  done  here.  Even 
as  the  beam  of  light  from  the  Tower  shifted  and  van 
ished  from  the  room,  he  leaped  to  the  switch  by  the 
door,  and  turned  on  the  lights  of  the  chandelier.  In 
the  next  moment,  he  had  reached  the  door  of  the  pass 
age  across  the  room,  and  his  whistle  sounded  shrill. 
His  voice  bellowed  reinforcement  to  the  blast. 

"Cassidy!    Cassidy!" 

As  Dick  made  a  step  toward  his  wife,  from  whom  he 
had  withdrawn  a  little  in  his  colloquy  with  the  official, 
Burke  voiced  his  command  viciously: 

''Stay  where  you  are — both  of  you!" 

Cassidy  came  rushing  in,  with  the  other  detectives. 
He  was  plainly  surprised  to  find  the  room  so  nearly 
empty,  where  he  had  expected  to  behold  a  gang  of  rob 
bers. 

"Why,  what's  it  all  mean,  Chief?"  he  questioned. 
His  peering  eyes  fell  on  Dick,  standing  beside  Mary, 
and  they  rounded  in  amazement. 

"They've  got  Griggs !"  Burke  answered.  There  was 
exceeding  rage  in  his  voice,  as  he  spoke  from  his  kneel 
ing  posture  beside  the  body,  to  which  he  had  hurried 
after  the  summons  to  his  aides.  He  glowered  up  into 


25  8  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

the  bewildered  face  of  the  detective.  "I'll  break  you 
for  this,  Cassidy,"  he  declared  fiercely.  "Why  didn't 
you  get  here  on  the  run  when  you  heard  the  shot?" 

"But  there  wasn't  any  shot,"  the  perplexed  and 
alarmed  detective  expostulated.  He  fairly  stuttered  in 
the  earnestness  of  his  self-defense.  "I  tell  you,  Chief, 
there  hasn't  been  a  sound." 

Burke  rose  to  his  feet.  His  heavy  face  was  set  in  its 
sternest  mold. 

"You  could  drive  a  hearse  through  the  hole  they've 
made  in  him,"  he  rumbled.  He  wheeled  on  Mary  and 
Dick.  "So !"  he  shouted,  "now  it's  murder ! ..  ,.  ;,  Well, 
hand  it  over.  Where's  the  gun?" 

Followed  a  moment's  pause.  Then  the  Inspector 
spoke  harshly  to  Cassidy.  He  still  felt  himself  some 
what  dazed  by  this  extraordinary  event,  but  he  was  able 
to  cope  with  the  situation.  He  nodded  toward  Dick  as 
he  gave  his  order:  "Search  him!" 

Before  the  detective  could  obey  the  direction,  Dick 
took  the  revolver  from  his  pocket  where  he  had  be 
stowed  it,  and  held  It  out. 

And  it  so  chanced  that  at  this  incriminating  crisis  for 
the  son,  the  father  hastily  strode  within  the  library.  He 
had  been  aroused  by  the  Inspector's  shouting,  and  was 
evidently  greatly  perturbed.  His  usual  dignified  air  was 
marred  by  a  patent  alarm. 

"What's  all  this?"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  halted  and 
stared  doubtfully  on  the  scene  before  him. 

Burke,  in  a  moment  like  this,  was  no  respecter  of  per 
sons,  for  all  his  judicious  attentions  on  other  occasions 


WITHIN  THE  TOILS  259 

to  those  whose  influence  might  serve  him  well  for  bene 
fits  received. 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,"  he  said  grimly  to  the 
dumfounded  magnate.  Then,  he  fixed  sinister  eyes  on 
the  son.  "So,"  he  went  on,  with  somber  menace  in  his 
voice,  "you  did  it,  young  man."  He  nodded  toward 
the  detective.  "Well,  Cassidy,  you  can  take  'em  both 
down-town.  .  .  .  That's  all." 

The  command  aroused  Dick  to  remonstrance  against 
such  indignity  toward  the  woman  whom  he  loved. 

"Not  her!"  he  cried,  imploringly.  "You  don't  want 
her,  Inspector!  This  is  all  wrong!" 

Now,  at  last,  Mary  interposed  with  a  new  spirit.  She 
had  regained,  in  some  measure  at  least,  her  poise.  She 
was  speaking  again  with  that  mental  clarity  which  was 
distinctive  in  her. 

"Dick,"  she  advised  quietly,  but  with  underlying 
urgency  in  her  gently  spoken  words,  "don't  talk,  please." 

Burke  laughed  harshly. 

"What  do  you  expect?"  he  inquired  truculently.  "As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  thing's  simple  enough,  young  man. 
Either  you  killed  Griggs,  or  she  did." 

The  Inspector,  with  his  charge,  made  a  careless  ges 
ture  toward  the  corpse  of  the  murdered  stool-pigeon. 
For  the  first  time,  Edward  Gilder,  as  his  glance  uncon 
sciously  followed  the  officer's  movement,  looked  and 
saw  the  ghastly  inanimate  heap  of  flesh  and  bone  that 
had  once  been  a  man.  He  fairly  reeled  at  the  gruesome 
spectacle,  then  fumbled  with  an  outstretched  hand  as  he 
moved  stumblingly  until  he  laid  hold  on  a  chair,  into 


260  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

which  he  sank  helplessly.  It  suddenly  smote  upon  his 
consciousness  that  he  felt  very  old  and  broken.  He 
marveled  dully  over  the  sensation — it  was  wholly  new 
to  him.  Then,  soon,  from  a  long  way  off,  he  heard  the 
strident  voice  of  the  Inspector  remorselessly  continuing 
in  the  vile,  the  impossible  accusation.  .  f.  ,.  And  that 
grotesque  accusation  was  hurled  against  his  only  son — 
the  boy  whom  he  so  loved.  The  thing  was  monstrous, 
a  thing  incredible.  This  whole  seeming  was  no  more 
than  a  chimera  of  the  night,  a  phantom  of  bad  dreams, 
with  no  truth  under  it.  ...  Yet,  the  stern  voice  of  the 
official  came  with  a  strange  semblance  of  reality. 

"Either  you  killed  him,"  the  voice  repeated  gratingly, 
"or  she  did.  Well,  then,  young  man,  did  she  kill  him?" 

"Good  God,  no  !"Dick  shouted,  aghast. 

"Then,  it  was  you!"  Such  was  the  Inspector's  sum 
mary  of  the  case. 

Mary's  words  came  frantically.  Once  again,  she  was 
become  desperate  over  the  course  of  events  in  this  night 
of  fearful  happenings. 

"No,  no!    He  didn't!" 

Burke's  rasping  voice  reiterated  the  accusation  with 
a  certain  complacency  in  the  inevitability  of  the  dilemma. 

"One  of  you  killed  Griggs.  Which  one  of  you  did 
it?"  He  scowled  at  Dick.  "Did  she  kill  him?" 

Again,  the  husband's  cry  came  with  the  fierceness  of 
despair  over  the  fate  of  the  woman. 

"I  told  you,  no!" 
,    The  Inspector,    always    savagely   impressive  now  in 


WITHIN  THE  TOILS  261 

voice  and  look  and  gesture,  faced  the  girl  with  saturnine 
persistence. 

"Well,  then,"  he  blustered,  "did  he  kill  him?" 

The  nod  of  his  head  was  toward  Dick.  Then,  as  she 
remained  silent:  "I'm  talking  to  you!"  he  snapped. 
"Did  he  kill  him?" 

The  reply  came  with  a  soft  distinctness  that  was  like 
a  crash  of  destiny. 

"Yes." 

Dick  turned  to  his  wife  in  reproachful  amazement. 

"Mary!"  he  cried,  incredulously.  This  betrayal  was 
something  inconceivable  from  her,  since  he  believed  that 
now  at  last  he  knew  her  heart. 

Burke,  however,  as  usual,  paid  no  heed  to  the  niceties 
of  sentiment.  They  had  small  place  in  his  concerns  as 
an  official  of  police.  His  sole  ambition  just  now  was  to 
fix  the  crime  definitely  on  the  perpetrator. 

"You'll  swear  he  killed  him?"  he  asked,  briskly,  well 
content  with  this  concrete  result  of  the  entanglement. 

Mary  subtly  evaded  the  question,  while  seeming  to 
give  unqualified  assent. 

"Why  not?"  she  responded  listlessly. 

At  this  intolerable  assertion  as  he  deemed  it,  Edward 
Gilder  was  reanimated.  He  sat  rigidly  erect  in  h's 
chair.  In  that  frightful  moment,  it  came  to  him  anew 
that  here  was  in  verity  the  last  detail  in  a  consummate 
scheme  by  this  woman  for  revenge  against  himself. 

"God!"  he  cried,  despairingly.  "And  that's  your 
vengeance !" 

Mary  heard,  and  understood.    There  came  an  inscrut- 


262  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

able  smile  on  her  curving  lips,  but  there  was  no  satis 
faction  in  that  smile,  as  of  one  who  realized  the  fruition 
of  long-cherished  schemes  of  retribution.  Instead,  there 
was  only  an  infinite  sadness,  while  she  spoke  very  gently. 

"I  don't  want  vengeance — now!"  she  said. 

"But  they'll  try  my  boy  for  murder,"  the  magnate  re 
monstrated,  distraught. 

"Oh,  no,  they  can't!"  came  the  rejoinder.  And  now, 
once  again,  there  was  a  hint  of  the  quizzical  creeping 
in  the  smile.  "No,  they  can't!"  she  repeated  firmly, 
and  there  was  profound  relief  in  her  tones  since  at  last 
her  ingenuity  had  found  a  way  out  of  this  outrageous 
situation  thrust  on  her  and  on  her  husband. 

Burke  glared  at  the  speaker  in  a  rage  that  was  abrupt 
ly  grown  suspicious  in  some  vague  way. 

"What's  the  reason  we  can't?"  he  stormed. 

Mary  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  was  radiant  with  a  new 
serenity,  now  that  her  quick-wittedness  had  discovered 
a  method  for  baffling  the  mesh  of  evidence  that  had 
been  woven  about  her  and  Dick  through  no  fault  of 
their  own.  Her  eyes  were  glowing  with  even  more 
than  their  usual  lusters.  Her  voice  came  softly  mod 
ulated,  almost  mocking. 

"Because  you  couldn't  convict  him,"  she  said  succinct 
ly.  A  contented  smile  bent  the  red  graces  of  her  lips. 

Burke  sneered  an  indignation  that  was,  nevertheless, 
somewhat  fearful  of  what  might  lie  behind  the  woman's 
assurance. 

"What's  the  reason?"  he  demanded,  scornfully. 
"There's  the  body."  He  pointed  to  the  rigid  form  of 


WITHIN  THE  TOILS  263 

the  dead  man,  lying  there  so  very  near  them.  "And 
the  gun  was  found  on  him.  And  then,  you're  willing  to 
swear  that  he  killed  him.  .  .  .  Well,  I  guess  we'll  con 
vict  him,  all  right.  Why  not?" 

Mary's  answer  was  given  quietly,  but,  none  the  less, 
with  an  assurance  that  could  not  be  gainsaid. 

"Because,"  she  said,  "my  husband  merely  killed  a 
burglar."  In  her  turn,  she  pointed  toward  the  body  of 
the  dead  man.  "That  man,"  she  continued  evenly,  "was 
the  burglar.  You  know  that!  My  husband  shot  him 
in  defense  of  his  home!"  There  was  a  brief  silence. 
Then,  she  added,  with  a  wonderful  mildness  in  the  music 
of  her  voice.  "And  so,  Inspector,  as  you  know  of 
course,  he  was  within  the  law !" 


CHAPTER  XX. 

WHO  SHOT  GRIGGS? 

In  his  office  next  morning,  Inspector  Burke  was  fum 
ing  over  the  failure  of  his  conspiracy.  He  had  hoped 
through  this  plot  to  vindicate  his  authority,  so  sadly 
flaunted  by  Garson  and  Mary  Turner.  Instead  of  this 
much-to-be-desired  result  from  his  scheming,  the  out 
come  had  been  nothing  less  than  disastrous.  The  one 
certain  fact  was  that  his  most  valuable  ally  in  his  war 
fare  against  the  criminals  of  the  city  had  been  done  to 
death.  Some  one  had  murdered  Griggs,  the  stool- 
pigeon.  Where  Burke  had  meant  to  serve  a  man  of 
high  influence,  Edward  Gilder,  by  railroading  the  bride 
of  the  magnate's  son  to  prison,  he  had  succeeded  only  in 
making  the  trouble  of  that  merchant  prince  vastly  worse 
in  the  ending  of  the  affair  by  arresting  the  son  for  the 
capital  crime  of  murder.  The  situation  was,  in  very 
truth,  intolerable.  More  than  ever,  Burke  grew  hot  with 
intent  to  overcome  the  woman  who  had  so  persistently 
outraged  his  authority  by  her  ingenious  devices  against 
the  law.  Anyhow,  the  murder  of  Griggs  could  not  go 
unpunished.  The  slayer's  identity  must  be  determined, 
and  thereafter  the  due  penalty  of  the  law  inflicted,  who 
ever  the  guilty  person  might  prove  to  be.  To  the  dis 
covery  of  this  identity,  the  Inspector  was  at  the  present 

264 


WHO  SHOT  GRIGGS?  265 

moment  devoting  himself  by  adroit  questioning  of  Dacey 
and  Chicago  Red,  who  had  been  arrested  in  one  of  their 
accustomed  haunts  by  his  men  a  short  time  before. 

The  policeman  on  duty  at  the  door  was  the  only  other 
person  in  the  room,  and  in  consequence  Burke  permitted 
himself,  quite  unashamed,  to  employ  those  methods  of 
persuasion  which  have  risen  to  a  high  degree  of  admir 
ation  in  police  circles. 

"Come  across  now!"  he  admonished.  His  voice 
rolled  forth  like  that  of  a  bull  of  Bashan.  He  was  on 
his  feet,  facing  the  two  thieves.  His  head  was  thrust 
forward  menacingly,  and  his  eyes  were  savage.  The 
two  men  shrank  before  him — both  in  natural  fear,  and, 
too,  in  a  furtive  policy  of  their  own.  This  was  no  oc 
casion  for  them  to  assert  a  personal  pride  against  the 
man  who  had  them  in  his  toils. 

"I  don't  know  nothin' !"  Chicago  Red's  voice  was 
between  a  snarl  and  a  whine.  "Ain't  I  been  telling  you 
that  for  over  an  hour?" 

Burke  vouchsafed  no  answer  in  speech,  but  with  a 
nimbleness  surprising  in  one  of  his  bulk,  gave  Dacey, 
who  chanced  to  be  the  nearer  of  the  two,  a  shove  that 
sent  the  fellow  staggering  half-way  across  the  room 
under  its  impetus. 

With  this  by  way  of  appreciable  introduction  to  his 
seriousness  of  purpose,  Burke  put  a  question: 

"Dacey,  how  long  have  you  been  out?" 

The  answer  came  in  a  sibilant  whisper  of  dread. 

"A  week." 

Burke  pushed  the  implication  brutally. 


266  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Want  to  go  back  for  another  stretch?"  The  In 
spector's  voice  was  freighted  with  suggestions  of  dis 
asters  to  come,  which  were  well  understood  by  the 
cringing  wretch  before  him. 

The  thief  shuddered,  and  his  face,  already  pallid  from 
the  prison  lack  of  sunlight  like  some  noxious  growth 
of  a  cellar,  became  livid.  His  words  came  in  a  muffled 
moan  of  fear. 

"God,  no!" 

Burke  left  a  little  interval  of  silence  then  in  which 
the  thieves  might  tremble  over  the  prospect  suggested 
by  his  words,  but  always  he  maintained  his  steady,  re 
lentless  glare  on  the  cowed  creatures.  It  was  a  famil 
iar  warfare  with  him.  Yet,  in  this  instance,  he  was  des 
tined  to  failure,  for  the  men  were  of  a  type  different 
from  that  of  English  Eddie,  who  was  lying  dead  as  the 
meet  reward  for  treachery  to  his  fellows.  .  .  .  When, 
at  last,  his  question  issued  from  the  close-shut  lips,  it 
came  like  the  crack  of  a  gun. 

"Who  shotGriggs?" 

The  reply  was  a  chorus  from  the  two: 

"I  don't  know — honest,  I  don't!" 

In  his  eagerness,  Chicago  Red  moved  toward  his 
questioner — unwisely. 

"Honest  to  Gawd,  I  don't  know  nothin'  about  it!" 

The  Inspector's  fist  shot  out  toward  Chicago  Red's 
jaw.  The  impact  was  enough.  The  thief  went  to  his 
knees  under  the  blow. 

"Now,  get  up — and  talk!"  Burke's  voice  came  with 
unrepentant  noisiness  against  the  stricken  man. 


WHO  SHOT  GRIGGS?  267 

Cringingly,  Chicago  Red,  who  so  gloried  in  his 
strength,  yet  was  now  altogether  humble  in  this  precari 
ous  case,  obeyed  as  far  as  the  getting  to  his  feet  was 
concerned.  ...  It  never  occurred  to  him  even  that  he 
should  carry  his  obedience  to  the  point  of  usquealing  on 
a  pal !"  Had  the  circumstances  been  different,  he  might 
.  have  refused  to  accept  the  Inspector's  blow  with  such 
meekness,  since  above  all  things  he  loved  a  bit  of  bodily 
strife  with  some  one  near  his  own  strength,  and  the 
Inspector  was  of  a  sort  to  offer  him  a  battle  worth 
while. 

So,  now,  while  he  got  slowly  to  his  feet,  he  took  care 
to  keep  at  a  respectful  distance  from  the  official,  though 
his  big  hands  fairly  ached  to  double  into  fists  for  blows 
with  this  man  who  had  so  maltreated  him. 

His  own  self-respect,  of  its  peculiar  sort,  was  saved 
by  the  interference  of  Cassidy,  who  entered  the  In 
spector's  office  to  announce  the  arrival  of  the  District 
Attorney. 

"Send  'im  in,"  Burke  directed  at  once.  He  made  a 
gesture  toward  the  doorman,  and  added:  "Take  'em 
back!" 

A  grin  of  evil  humor  writhed  the  lips  of  the  police 
official,  and  he  added  to  the  attentive  doorman  a  word 
of  direction  that  might  well  be  interpreted  by  the  malev 
olent  expression  on  his  face. 

"Don't  be  rough  with  'em,  Dan,"  he  said.  For  once, 
his  dominating  voice  was  reduced  to  something  ap 
proaching  softness,  in  his  sardonic  appreciation  of  his 
own  humor  in  the  conception  of  what  these  two  men, 


268  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

who  had  ventured  to  resist  his  importunities,  might  re 
ceive  at  the  hands  of  his  faithful  satellites.  .  .  .  The 
doorman  grinned  appreciatively,  and  herded  his  victims 
from  the  place.  And  the  two  went  shamblingly  in  sure 
knowledge  of  the  things  that  were  in  store.  Yet,  with 
out  thought  of  treachery.  They  would  not  "squeal" ! 
All  they  would  tell  of  the  death  of  Eddie  Griggs  would 
be:  "He  got  what  was  coming  to  him!" 

The  Inspector  dropped  into  his  swivel  chair  at  the 
desk  whilst  he  awaited  the  arrival  of  Demarest,  the  Dis 
trict  Attorney.  The  greetings  between  the  two  were 
cordial  when  at  last  the  public  prosecutor  made  his  ap 
pearance. 

"I  came  as  soon  as  I  got  your  message,"  the  District 
Attorney  said,  as  he  seated  himself  in  a  chair  by  the 
desk.  "And  I've  sent  word  to  Mr.  Gilder.  .  .  .  Now, 
then,  Burke,  let's  have  this  thing  quickly." 

The  Inspector's  explanation  was  concise : 

"Joe  Garson,  Chicago  Red,  and  Dacey,  along  with 
Griggs,  broke  into  Edward  Gilder's  house,  last  night! 
I  knew  the  trick  was  going  to  be  pulled  off,  and  so  I 
planted  Cassidy  and  a  couple  of  other  men  just  out 
side  the  room  where  the  haul  was  to  be  made.  Then,  I 
went  away,  and  after  something  like  half  an  hour  I 
came  back  to  make  the  arrests  myself."  A  look  of  in 
tense  disgust  spread  itself  over  the  Inspector's  massive 
face.  "Well,"  he  concluded  sheepishly,  "when  I  broke 
into  the  room  I  found  young  Gilder  along  with  that 
Turner  woman  he  married,  and  they  were  just  talking 
together." 


WHO  SHOT  GRIGGS  f  269 

"No  trace  of  the  others?"  Demarest  questioned 
crisply. 

At  the  inquiry,  Burke's  face  crimsoned  angrily,  then 
again  set  in  grim  lines. 

"I  found  Griggs  lying  on  the  floor — dead!"  Once 
again  the  disgust  showed  in  his  expression.  "The  Tur 
ner  woman  says  young  Gilder  shot  Griggs  because  he 
broke  into  the  house.  Ain't  that  the  limit?" 

"What  does  the  boy  say?"  the  District  Attorney  de 
manded. 

Burke  shook  his  head  dispiritedly. 

"Nothing,"  he  answered.  "She  told  him  not  to  talk, 
and  so,  of  course,  he  won't,  he's  such  a  fool  over  her." 

"And  what  does  she  say?"  Demarest  asked.  He 
found  himself  rather  amused  by  the  exceeding  chagrin 
of  the  Inspector  over  this  affair. 

Burke's  voice  grew  savage  as  he  snapped  a  reply. 

"Refuses  to  talk  till  she  sees  a  lawyer.  But  a  touch 
of  cheerfulness  appeared  in  his  tones  as  he  proceeded. 
"We've  got  Chicago  Red  and  Dacey,  and  we'll  have 
Garson  before  the  day's  over.  And,  oh,  yes,  they've 
picked  up  a  young  girl  at  the  Turner  woman's  place. 
And  we've  got  one  real  clue — for  once!"  The  speak 
er's  expression  was  suddenly  triumphant.  He  opened 
a  drawer  of  the  desk,  and  took  out  Garson's  pistol,  to 
which  the  silencer  was  still  attached. 

"You  never  saw  a  gun  like  that  before,  eh?"  he  ex 
claimed. 

Demarest  admitted  the  fact  after  a  curious  examina 
tion. 


270  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"I'll  bet  you  never  did!"  Burke  cried,  with  satisfac 
tion.  "That  thing  on  the  end  is  a  Maxim  silencer. 
There  are  thousands  of  them  in  use  on  rifles,  but  they've 
never  been  able  to  use  them  on  revolvers  before.  This 
is  a  specially  made  gun,"  he  went  on  admiringly,  as  he 
took  it  back  and  slipped  it  into  a  pocket  of  his  coat. 
"That  thing  is  absolutely  noiseless.  I've  tried  it.  Well, 
you  see,  it'll  be  an  easy  thing — easiest  thing  in  the 
world! — to  trace  that  silencer  attachment.  Cassidy's 
working  on  that  end  of  the  thing  now." 

For  a  few  minutes  longer,  the  two  men  discussed  the 
details  of  the  crime,  theorizing  over  the  baffling  event. 
Then,  presently,  Cassidy  entered  the  office,  and  made  re 
port  of  his  investigations  concerning  the  pistol  with  the 
silencer  attachment. 

"I  got  the  factory  at  Hartford  on  the  wire,"  he  ex 
plained,  "and  they  gave  me  Mr.  Maxim  himself,  the 
inventor  of  the  silencer.  He  said  this  was  surely  a  spe 
cial  gun,  wrhich  was  made  for  the  use  of  Henry  Syl 
vester,  one  of  the  professors  at  Yale.  He  wanted  it  for 
demonstration  purposes.  Mr.  Maxim  said  the  things 
have  never  been  put  on  the  market,  and  that  they  never 
will  be." 

"For  humane  reasons,"  Demarest  commented,  nod 
ding  approbation. 

"Good  thing,  too!"  Burke  conceded.  "They'd  make 
murder  too  devilish  easy,  and  it's  easy  enough  now. 
,  .  .  Well,  Cassidy?" 

"I  got  hold  of  this  man,  Sylvester,"  Cassidy  went  on. 
"I  had  him  on  the  'phone,  too.  He  says  that  his  house 


WHO  SHOT  GRIGGS?  271 

was  robbed  about  eight  weeks  ago,  and  among  other 
things  the  silencer  was  stolen."  Cassidy  paused,  and 
chuckled  drily.  "He  adds  the  startling  information 
that  the  New  Haven  police  have  not  been  able  to  re 
cover  any  of  the  stolen  property.  Them  rube  cops  are 
immense!" 

Demarest  smiled  slyly,  as  the  detective,  at  a  nod  from 
his  superior,  went  toward  the  door. 

"No,"  he  said,  maliciously;  "only  the  New  York  po 
lice  recover  stolen  goods." 

"Good-night!"  quoth  Cassidy,  turning  at  the  door,  in 
admission  of  his  discomfiture  over  the  thrust,  while 
Burke  himself  grinned  wryly  in  appreciation  of  the  gibe. 

Demarest  grew  grave  again,  as  he  put  the  question 
that  was  troubling  him  most. 

"Is  there  any  chance  that  young  Gilder  did  shoot 
Griggs?" 

"You  can  search  me!"  the  Inspector  answered,  discon 
solately.  "My  men  were  just  outside  the  door  of  the 
room  where  Eddie  Griggs  was  shot  to  death,  and  none 
of  'em  heard  a  sound.  It's  that  infernal  silencer  thing. 
Of  course,  I  know  that  all  the  gang  was  in  the  house." 

"But  tell  me  just  how  you  know  that  fact,"  Demar-, 
est  objected  very  crisply.  "Did  you  see  them  go  ialr, 

"No,  I  didn't,"  the  Inspector  admitted,  tartly,  could 
Griggs "  *  nis  head 

Demarest  permitted  himself  a  sneer  b 
knowledge.  o  go  free.     I 

"Griggs  is  dead,  Burke.    You're  up  agair  ever  killed 


272  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

can't  prove  that  Garson,  or  Chicago  Red,  or  Dacey, 
ever  entered  that  house." 

The  Inspector  scowled  over  this  positive  statement. 

"But  Griggs  said  they  were  going  to,"  he  argued. 

"I  know,"  Demarest  agreed,  with  an  exasperating  air 
of  shrewdness;  ubut  Griggs  is  dead.  You  see,  Burke, 
you  couldn't  in  a  trial  even  repeat  what  he  told  you. 
It's  not  permissible  evidence." 

"Oh,  the  law!"  the  Inspector  snorted,  with  much 
choler.  "Well,  then,"  he  went  on  belligerently,  "I'll 
charge  young  Gilder  with  murder,  and  call  the  Turner 


woman  as  a  witness." 


The  District  Attorney  laughed  aloud  over  this  project. 

"You  can't  question  her  on  the  witness-stand,"  he 
explained  patronizingly  to  the  badgered  police  official. 
"The  law  doesn't  allow  you  to  make  a  wife  testify 
against  her  husband.  And,  what's  more,  you  can't  ar 
rest  her,  and  then  force  her  to  go  into  the  witness- 
stand,  either.  No,  Burke,"  he  concluded  emphatically, 
"your  only  chance  of  getting  the  murderer  of  Griggs  is 
by  a  confession." 

"Then,  I'll  charge  them  both  with  the  murder,"  the 
Inspector  growled  vindictively.  "And,  by  God,  they'll 
oth  go  to  trial  unless  somebody  comes  through."  He 
""ght  his  huge  fist  down  on  the  desk  with  violence, 

"Gcs  VO'ICQ  was  forbidding.  "If  it's  my  last  act  on 
murder  to  j'ec^arec^>  "I'm  g°'mg  to  £et  tne  man  wno  snot 

i.    .    .   Well,  C 

"I  got  hold  as  seriousty  disturbed  by  the  situation 
"I  had  him  o  iOPec^-  ^e  was  under  great  personal  obli- 


WHO  SHOT  GRIGGSf  273 

gations  to  Edward  Gilder,  whose  influence  in  fact  had 
been  the  prime  cause  of  his  success  in  attaining  to  the 
important  official  position  he  now  held,  and  he  would 
have  gone  far  to  serve  the  magnate  in  any  difficulty  that 
might  arise.  He  had  been  perfectly  willing  to  employ 
all  the  resources  of  his  office  to  relieve  the  son  from 
the  entanglement  with  a  woman  of  unsavory  notoriety. 
Now,  thanks  to  the  miscarried  plotting  of  Burke  to  the 
like  end,  what  before  had  been  merely  a  vicious  state 
of  affairs  was  become  one  of  the  utmost  dreadfulness. 
The  worst  of  crimes  had  been  committed  in  the  house 
of  Edward  Gilder  himself,  and  his  son  acknowledged 
himself  as  the  murderer.  The  District  Attorney  felt  a 
genuine  sorrow  in  thinking  of  the  anguish  this  event 
must  have  brought  on  the  father.  He  had,  as  well, 
sympathy  enough  for  the  son.  His  acquaintance  with 
the  young  man  convinced  him  that  the  boy  had  not  done 
the  deed  of  bloody  violence.  In  that  fact  was  a  min 
gling  of  comfort  and  of  anxiety.  It  had  been  better, 
doubtless,  if  indeed  Dick  had  shot  Griggs,  had  inflicted 
a  just  penalty  on  a  housebreaker.  But  the  District  At 
torney  was  not  inclined  to  credit  the  confession.  Burke's 
account  of  the  plot  in  which  the  stool-pigeon  had  been 
the  agent  offered  too  many  complications.  Altogether, 
the  aspect  of  the  case  served  to  indicate  that  Dick  could 
not  have  been  the  slayer.  .  .  .  Demarest  shook  his  head 
dejectedly. 

"Burke,*1  he  said,  "I  want  the  boy  to  go  free.     I 
don't  believe  for  a  minute  that  Dick  Gilder  ever  killed 


274  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

this  pet  stool-pigeon  of  yours.  And,  so,  you  must  un 
derstand  this :  I  want  him  to  go  free,  of  course." 

Burke  frowned  refusal  at  this  suggestion.  Here  was 
a  matter  in  which  his  rights  must  not  be  invaded.  He, 
too,  would  have  gone  far  to  serve  a  man  of  Edward 
Gilder's  standing,  but  in  this  instance  his  professional 
pride  was  in  revolt.  He  had  been  defied,  trapped,  made 
a  victim  of  the  gang  who  had  killed  his  most  valued  in 
former. 

"The  youngster'll  go  free  when  he  tells  what  he 
knows,"  he  said  angrily,  uand  not  a  minute  before." 
His  expression  lightened  a  little.  "Perhaps  the  old  gen 
tleman  can  make  him  talk.  I  can't.  He's  under  that 
woman's  thumb,  of  course,  and  she's  told  him  he  mustn't 
say  a  word.  So,  he  don't."  A  grin  of  half-embar 
rassed  appreciation  moved  the  heavy  jaws  as  he  glanced 
at  the  District  Attorney.  "You  see,"  he  explained,  "I 
can't  make  him  talk,  but  I  might  if  circumstances  were 
different.  On  account  of  his  being  the  old  man's  son, 
I'm  a  little  cramped  in  my  style." 

It  was,  in  truth,  one  thing  to  browbeat  and  assault  a 
convict  like  Dacey  or  Chicago  Red,  but  quite  another 
to  employ  the  like  violence  against  a  youth  of  Dick 
Gilder's  position  in  the  world.  Demarest  understood 
perfectly,  but  he  was  inclined  to  be  sceptical  over  the 
Inspector's  theory  that  Dick  possessed  actual  cognizance 
as  to  the  killing  of  Griggs. 

"You  think  that  young  Gilder  really  knows?"  he  ques 
tioned,  doubtfully. 

"I  don't  think  anything — yet !"  Burke  retorted.    "All 


WHO  SHOT  GRIGGSf  275 

I  know  is  this :  Eddie  Griggs,  the  most  valuable  crook 
that  ever  worked  for  me,  has  been  murdered."  The 
official's  voice  was  charged  with  threatening  as  he  went 
on.  "And  some  one,  man  or  woman,  is  going  to  pay 
fork!" 

"Woman?"  Demarest  repeated,  in  some  astonish 
ment. 

Burke's  voice  came  merciless. 

"I  mean,  Mary  Turner,"  he  said  slowly. 

Demarest  was  shocked. 

"But,  Burke,"  he  expostulated,  "she's  not  that  sort." 

The  Inspector  sneered  openly. 

"How  do  you  know  she  ain't  ?"  he  demanded.  "Well, 
anyhow,  she's  made  a  monkey  out  of  the  Police  Depart 
ment,  .and,  first,  last,  and  all  the  time,  I'm  a  copper.  .  . 
And  that  reminds  me,"  he  went  on  with  a  resumption  of 
his  usual  curt  bluntness,  "I  want  you  to  wait  for  Mr. 
Gilder  outside,  while  I  get  busy  with  the  girl  they've 
brought  down  from  Mary  Turner's  flat." 


CHAPTER   XXI. 

AGGIE  AT  BAY. 

Burke,  after  the  lawyer  had  left  him,  watched  the 
door  expectantly  for  the  coming  of  the  girl,  whom  he 
had  ordered  brought  before  him.  But,  when  at  last 
Dan  appeared,  and  stood  aside  to  permit  her  passing 
into  the  office,  the  Inspector  gasped  at  the  unexpected 
ness  of  the  vision.  He  had  anticipated  the  coming  of 
a  woman  of  that  world  with  which  he  was  most  familiar 
in  the  exercise  of  his  professional  duties — the  under 
world  of  criminals,  some  one  beautiful  perhaps,  but  with 
the  brand  of  viciousness  marked  subtly,  yet  visibly  for 
the  trained  eye  to  see.  Then,  even  in  that  first  moment, 
he  told  himself  that  he  should  have  been  prepared  for 
the  unusual  in  this  instance,  since  the  girl  had  to  do  with 
Mary  Turner,  and  that  disturbing  person  herself 
showed  in  face  and  form  and  manner  nothing  to  sug 
gest  aught  but  a  gentlewoman.  And,  in  the  next  instant, 
the  Inspector  forgot  his  surprise  in  a  sincere,  almost 
ardent  admiration. 

The  girl  was  rather  short,  but  of  a  slender  elegance 
of  form  that  was  ravishing.  She  was  gowned,  too,  with 
a  chic  nicety  to  arouse  the  envy  of  all  less-fortunate 
women.  Her  costume  had  about  it  an  indubitable  air, 
a  finality  of  perfection  in  its  kind.  On  another,  it 

276 


AGGIE  AT  BAY  277 

might  have  appeared  perhaps  the  merest  trifle  garish. 
But  that  fault,  if  in  fact  it  ever  existed,  was  made  into  a 
virtue  by  the  correcting  innocence  of  the  girl's  face.  It 
was  a  childish  face,  childish  in  the  exquisite  smoothness 
of  the  soft,  pink  skin,  childish  in  the  wondering  stare  of 
the  blue  eyes,  now  so  widely  opened  in  dismay,  childish 
in  the  wistful  drooping  of  the  rosebud  mouth. 

The  girl  advanced  slowly,  with  a  laggard  hesitation 
in  her  movements  obviously  from  fear.  She  approached 
the  desk,  from  behind  which  the  Inspector  watched,  fas 
cinated  by  the  fresh  and  wholesome  beauty  of  this  young 
creature.  He  failed  to  observe  the  underlying  anger 
beneath  the  girl's  outward  display  of  alarm.  He  shook 
off  his  first  impression  by  means  of  a  resort  to  his  cus 
tomary  bluster  in  such  cases. 

"Now,  then,  my  girl,"  he  said  roughly,  "I  want  to 
know " 

There  came  a  change,  wrought  in  the  twinkling  of  an 
eye.  The  tiny,  trimly  shod  foot  of  the  girl  rose  and  fell 
in  a  wrathful  stamp. 

"How  dare  you !"  The  clear  blue  eyes  were  become 
darkened  with  anger.  There  was  a  deepened  leaf  of  red 
in  either  cheek.  The  drooping  lips  drooped  no  longer, 
but  were  bent  to  a  haughtiness  that  was  finely  impres 
sive. 

Before  the  offended  indignation  of  the  young  woman, 
Burke  sat  bewildered  by  embarrassment  for  once  ui  his 
life,  and  quite  at  a  loss. 

"What's  that?"  he  said,  dubiously. 

The  girl  explained  the  matter  explicitly  enough. 


278  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"What  do  you  mean  by  this  outrage?"  she  stormed. 
Her  voice  was  low  and  rich,  with  a  charming  roundness 
that  seemed  the  very  hallmark  of  gentility.  But,  now, 
it  was  surcharged  with  an  indignant  amazement  over  the 
indignity  put  upon  her  by  the  representatives  of  the  law. 
Then,  abruptly,  the  blue  eyes  were  softened  in  their 
fires,  as  by  the  sudden  nearness  of  tears. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  girl  repeated.  Her  slim 
form  was  tense  with  wrath.  "I  demand  my  instant  re 
lease."  There  was  indescribable  rebuke  in  her  slow  em 
phasis  of  the  words. 

Burke  was  impressed  in  spite  of  himself,  in  spite  of 
his  accustomed  cold  indifference  to  the  feelings  of  others 
as  necessity  compelled  him  to  make  investigation  of 
them.  His  harsh,  blustering  voice  softened  perceptibly, 
and  he  spoke  in  a  wheedling  tone,  such  as  one  might 
employ  in  the  effort  to  tranquillize  a  spoiled  child  in  a, 
fit  of  temper. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  he  remonstrated.  "Wait  a  min 
ute!"  He  made  a  pacifically  courteous  gesture  toward 
one  of  the  chairs,  which  stood  by  an  end  of  the  desk. 
"Sit  down,"  he  invited,  with  an  effort  toward  cajoling. 

The  scorn  of  the  girl  was  superb.  Her  voice  came 
icily,  as  she  answered: 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Sit  down,  indeed! — 

here !  Why,  I  have  been  arrested "  There  came  a 

break  in  the  music  of  her  tones  throbbing  resentment. 
A  little  sob  crept  in,  and  broke  the  sequence  of  words. 
The  dainty  face  was  vivid  with  shame.  "I — "  she  fal 
tered,  "I've  been  arrested — by  a  common  policeman!" 


AGGIE  AT  BAY  279 

The  Inspector  seized  on  the  one  flaw  left  him  for 
defense  against  her  indictment. 

"No,  no,  miss,"  he  argued,  earnestly.  "Excuse  me. 
It  wasn't  any  common  policeman — it  was  a  detective  ser 
geant." 

But  his  effort  to  placate  was  quite  in  vain.  The  in 
genuous  little  beauty  with  the  child's  face  and  the  blue 
eyes  so  widely  opened  fairly  panted  in  her  revolt  against 
the  ignominy  of  her  position,  and  was  not  to  be  so  easily 
appeased.  Her  voice  came  vibrant  with  disdain.  Her 
level  gaze  on  the  Inspector  was  of  a  sort  to  suggest 
to  him  anxieties  over  possible  complications  here. 

"You  wait!"  she  cried  violently.  "You  just  wait,  I 
tell  you,  until  my  papa  hears  of  this!" 

Burke  regarded  the  furious  girl  doubtfully. 

"Who  is  your  papa?"  he  asked,  with  a  bit  of  alarm 
stirring  in  his  breast,  for  he  had  no  mind  to  offend  any 
one  of  importance  where  there  was  no  need. 

"I  sha'n't  tell  you,"  came  the  petulant  retort  from  the 
girl.  Her  ivory  forehead  was  wrinkled  charmingly  in  a 
little  frown  of  obstinacy.  "Why,"  she  went  on,  display 
ing  new  symptoms  of  distress  over  another  appalling 
idea  that  flashed  on  her  in  this  moment,  "you  would 
probably  give  my  name  to  the  reporters."  Once  again 
the  rosebud  mouth  drooped  into  curves  of  sorrow,  of  a 
great  self-pity.  "If  it  ever  got  into  the  newspapers,  my 
family  would  die  of  shame!" 

The  pathos  of  her  fear  pierced  through  the  hardened 
crust  of  the  police  official.  He  spoke  apologetically. 

"Now,  the  easiest  way  out  for  both  of  us,"  he  sug- 


28o  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

gested,  "is  for  you  to  tell  me  just  who  you  are.  You 
see,  young  lady,  you  were  found  in  the  house  of  a  no 
torious  crook." 

The  haughtiness  of  the  girl  waxed.  It  seemed  as  if 
she  grew  an  inch  taller  in  her  scorn  of  the  Inspector's 
saying. 

"How  perfectly  absurd!"  she  exclaimed,  scathingly. 
"I  was  calling  on  Miss  Mary  Turner!" 

"How  did  you  come  to  meet  her,  anyhow?"  Burke 
inquired.  He  still  held  his  big  voice  to  a  softer  modu 
lation  than  that  to  which  it  was  habituated. 

Yet,  the  disdain  of  the  girl  seemed  only  to  increase 
momently.  She  showed  plainly  that  she  regarded  this 
brass-buttoned  official  as  one  unbearably  insolent  in  his 
demeanor  toward  her.  Nevertheless,  she  condescended 
to  reply,  with  an  exaggeration  of  the  aristocratic  drawl 
to  indicate  her  displeasure. 

"I  was  introduced  to  Miss  Turner,"  she  explained, 
"by  Mr.  Richard  Gilder.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of 
his  father,  the  owner  of  the  Emporium." 

"Oh,  yes,  I've  heard  of  his  father,  and  of  him,  too," 
Burke  admitted,  placatingly. 

But  the  girl  relaxed  not  a  whit  in  her  attitude  of 
offense. 

"Then,"  she  went  on  severely,  "you  must  see  at  once 
that  you  are  entirely  mistaken  in  this  matter."  Her 
blue  eyes  widened  further  as  she  stared  accusingly  at 
the  Inspector,  who  betrayed  evidences  of  perplexity,  and 
hesitated  for  an  answer.  Then,  the  doll-like,  charming 


AGGIE  AT  BAY  281 

face  took  on  a  softer  look,  which  had  in  it  a  suggestion 
of  appeal. 

"Don't  you  see  it?"  she  demanded. 

"Well,  no,"  Burke  rejoined  uneasily;  "not  exactly, 
I  don't!"  In  the  presence  of  this  delicate  and  graceful 
femininity,  he  experienced  a  sudden,  novel  distaste  for 
his  usual  sledge-hammer  methods  of  attack  in  interroga 
tion.  Yet,  his  duty  required  that  he  should  continue  his 
questioning.  He  found  himself  in  fact  between  the 
devil  and  the  deep  sea — though  this  particular  devil  ap 
peared  rather  as  an  angel  of  light. 

Now,  at  his  somewhat  feeble  remark  in  reply  to  her 
query,  the  childish  face  grew  as  hard  as  its  curving 
contours  would  permit. 

"Sir!"  she  cried  indignantly.  Her  little  head  was 
thrown  back  in  scornful  reproof,  and  she  turned  a  shoul 
der  toward  the  official  contemptuously. 

"Now,  now!"  Burke  exclaimed  in  remonstrance. 
After  all,  he  could  not  be  brutal  with  this  guileless 
maiden.  He  must,  however,  make  the  situation  clear  to 
her,  lest  she  think  him  a  beast — which  would  never  do ! 

"You  see,  young  lady,"  he  went  on  with  a  gentleness 
of  voice  and  manner  that  would  have  been  inconceivable 
to  Dacey  and  Chicago  Red;  "you  see,  the  fact  is  that, 
even  if  you  were  introduced  to  this  Mary  Turner  by 
young  Mr.  Gilder,  this  same  Mary  Turner  herself  is 
an  ex-convict,  and  she's  just  been  arrested  for  murder." 

At  the  dread  word,  a  startling  change  was  wrought 
in  the  girl.  She  wheeled  to  face  the  Inspector,  her  slen 
der  body  swaying  a  little  toward  him.  The  rather  heavy 


282  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

brows  were  lifted  slightly  in  a  disbelieving  stare.  The 
red  lips  were  parted,  rounded  to  a  tremulous  horror. 

"Murder!"  she  gasped;  and  then  was  silent. 

"Yes,"  Burke  went  on,  wholly  at  ease  now,  since  he 
had  broken  the  ice  thus  effectually.  "You  see,  if  there's 
a  mistake  about  you,  you  don't  want  it  to  go  any  further 
— not  a  mite  further,  that's  sure.  So,  you  see,  now, 
that's  one  of  the  reasons  why  I  must  know  just  who  you 
are."  Then,  in  his  turn,  Burke  put  the  query  that  the 
girl  had  put  to  him  a  little  while  before.  "You  see  that, 
don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes,  yes!"  was  the  instant  agreement.  "You 
should  have  told  me  all  about  this  horrid  thing  in  the 
first  place."  Now,  the  girl's  manner  was  transformed. 
She  smiled  wistfully  on  the  Inspector,  and  the  glance  of 
the  blue  eyes  was  very  kind,  subtly  alluring.  Yet  in  this 
unbending,  there  appeared  even  more  decisively  than 
hitherto  the  fine  qualities  in  bearing  of  one  delicately 
nurtured.  She  sank  down  in  a  chair  by  the  desk,  and 
forthwith  spoke  with  a  simplicity  that  in  itself  was 
somehow  peculiarly  potent  in  its  effect  on  the  official  who 
gave  attentive  ear. 

"My  name  is  Helen  Travers  West,"  she  announced. 

Burke  started  a  little  in  his  seat,  and  regarded  the 
speaker  with  a  new  deference  as  he  heard  that  name 
uttered. 

"Not  the  daughter  of  the  railway  president?"  he  in 
quired. 

"Yes,"  the  girl  admitted.  Then,  anew,  she  displayed 


AGGIE  AT  BAY  283 

a  serious  agitation  over  the  thought  of  any  possible  pub 
licity  in  this  affair. 

"Oh,  please,  don't  tell  any  one,"  she  begged  prettily. 
The  blue  eyes  were  very  imploring,  beguiling,  too.  The 
timid  smile  that  wreathed  the  tiny  mouth  was  marvel- 
ously  winning.  The  neatly  gloved  little  hands  were  held 
outstretched,  clasped  in  supplication.  "Surely,  sir,  you 
see  now  quite  plainly  why  it  must  never  be  known  by 
any  one  in  all  the  wide,  wide  world  that  I  have  ever  been 
brought  to  this  perfectly  dreadful  place — though  you 
have  been  quite  nice !"  Her  voice  dropped  to  a  note  of 
musical  prayerfulness.  The  words  were  spoken  very 
softly  and  very  slowly,  with  intonations  difficult  for  a 
man  to  deny.  "Please  let  me  go  home."  She  plucked  a 
minute  handkerchief  from  her  handbag,  put  it  to  her 
eyes,  and  began  to  sob  quietly. 

The  burly  Inspector  of  Police  was  moved  to  quick 
sympathy.  Really,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  it  was 
a  shame  that  one  like  her  should  by  some  freak  of  fate 
have  become  involved  in  the  sordid,  vicious  things  that 
his  profession  made  it  obligatory  on  him  to  investigate. 
There  was  a  considerable  hint  of  the  paternal  in  his  air 
•  as  he  made  an  attempt  to  offer  consolation  to  the  afflicted 
•'damsel. 

"That's  all  right,  little  lady,"  he  exclaimed  cheerfully. 
"Now,  don't  you  be  worried — not  a  little  bit.  Take  it 
from  me,  Miss  West.  .;  .  .  Just  go  ahead,  and  tell  me 
all  you  know  about  this  Turner  woman.  Did  you  see 
her  yesterday?" 

The  girl's  sobs  ceased.    After  a  final  dab  with  the  mi- 


284  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

nute  handkerchief,  she  leaned  forward  a  little  toward 
the  Inspector,  and  proceeded  to  put  a  question  to  him 
with  great  eagerness. 

"Will  you  let  me  go  home  as  soon  as  IVe  told  you  the 
teenty  little  I  know?" 

"Yes,"  Burke  agreed  promptly,  with  an  encouraging 
smile.  And  for  a  good  measure  of  reassurance,  he  add 
ed  as  one  might  to  an  alarmed  child:  "No  one  is  going 
to  hurt  you,  young  lady." 

"Well,  then,  you  see,  it  was  this  way,"  began  the  brisk 
explanation.  "Mr.  Gilder  was  calling  on  me  one  after 
noon,  and  he  said  to  me  then  that  he  knew  a  very  charm 
ing  young  woman,  who " 

Here  the  speech  ended  abruptly,  and  once  again  the 
handkerchief  was  brought  into  play  as  the  sobbing 
broke  forth  with  increased  violence.  Presently,  the 
girl's  voice  rose  in  a  wail. 

"Oh,  this  is  dreadful— dreadful !"  In  the  final  word, 
the  wail  broke  to  a  moan. 

Burke  felt  himself  vaguely  guilty  as  the  cause  of  such 
suffering  on  the  part  of  one  so  young,  so  fair,  so  inno 
cent.  As  a  culprit,  he  sought  his  best  to  afford  a  meas 
ure  of  soothing  for  this  grief  that  had  had  its  source  in 
his  performance  of  duty. 

"That's  all  right,  little  lady,"  he  urged  in  a  voice  as 
nearly  mellifluous  as  he  could  contrive  with  its  mighty 
volume.  "That's  all  right.  I  have  to  keep  on  telling 
you.  Nobody's  going  to  hurt  you — not  a  little  bit.  Be 
lieve  me !  Why,  nobody  ever  would  want  to  hurt  you !" 

But  his  well-meant  attempt  to  assuage  the  stricken 


AGGIE  AT  BAY  285 

creature's  wo  was  futile.  The  sobbing  continued.  With 
it  came  a  plaintive  cry,  many  times  repeated,  softly,  but 
very  miserably. 

"Oh,  dear!    Oh,  dear!" 

"Isn't  there  something  else  you  can  tell  me  about  this 
woman?"  Burke  inquired  in  desperation  before  the 
plaintive  outburst.  He  hoped  to  distract  her  from  such 
grief  over  her  predicament. 

The  girl  gave  no  least  heed  to  the  question. 

"Oh,  I'm  so  frightened!"  she  gasped. 

"Tut,  tut!"  the  Inspector  chided.  "Now,  I  tell  you 
there's  nothing  at  all  for  you  to  be  afraid  of." 

"I'm  afraid!"  the  girl  asserted  dismally.  "I'm  afraid 
you  will — put  me — in  a  cell!"  Her  voice  sank  to  a 
murmur  hardly  audible  as  she  spoke  the  words  so 
fraught  with  dread  import  to  one  of  her  refined  sensibili 
ties. 

"Pooh!"  Burke  returned,  gallantly.  "Why,  my  dear 
young  lady,  nobody  in  the  world  could  think  of  you  and 
a  cell  at  the  same  time — no,  indeed!" 

Instantly,  the  girl  responded  to  this  bald  flattery.  She 
fairly  radiated  appreciation  of  the  compliment,  as  she 
turned  her  eyes,  dewy  with  tears,  on  the  somewhat  flus 
tered  Inspector. 

"Oh,  thank  you!"  she  exclaimed,  with  naive  enjoy 
ment. 

Forthwith,  Burke  set  out  to  make  the  most  of  this 
favorable  opportunity. 

"Are  you  sure  you've  told  me  all  you  know  about 
this  woman?"  he  questioned. 


286  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Oh,  yes!  I've  only  seen  her  two  or  three  times," 
came  the  ready  response.  The  voice  changed  to  sup 
plication,  and  again  the  clasped  hands  were  extended  be 
seechingly. 

uOh,  please,  Commissioner!  Won't  you  let  me  go 
home?" 

The  use  of  a  title  higher  than  his  own  flattered  the 
Inspector,  and  he  was  moved  to  graciousness.  Besides, 
it  was  obvious  that  his  police  net  in  this  instance  had 
enmeshed  only  the  most  harmless  of  doves.  He  smiled 
encouragingly. 

"Well,  now,  little  lady,"  he  said,  almost  tenderly,  "if 
I  let  you  go  now,  will  you  promise  to  let  me  know  if 
you  are  able  to  think  of  anything  else  about  this  Turner 
woman?" 

"I  will — indeed,  I  will!"  came  the  fervent  assurance. 
There  was  something  almost — quite  provocative  in  the 
flash  of  gratitude  that  shone  forth  from  the  blue  eyes  of 
the  girl  in  that  moment  of  her  superlative  relief.  It 
moved  Burke  to  a  desire  for  rehabilitation  in  her  esti 
mation. 

"Now,  you  see,"  he  went  on  in  his  heavy  voice,  yet 
very  kindly,  and  with  a  sort  of  massive  playfulness  in 
his  manner,"  no  one  has  hurt  you — not  even  a  little  bit, 
after  all.  Now,  you  run  right  home  to  your  mother." 

The  girl  did  not  need  to  be  told  twice.  On  the  instant, 
she  sprang  up  joyously,  and  started  toward  the  door, 
with  a  final  ravishing  smile  for  the  pleased  official  at 
the  desk. 


AGGIE  AT  BAY  287 

"I'll  go  just  as  fast  as  ever  I  can,"  the  musical  voice 
made  assurance  blithely. 

"Give  my  compliments  to  your  father,"  Burke  re 
quested  courteously.  "And  tell  him  I'm  sorry  I  fright 
ened  you." 

The  girl  turned  at  the  door.  .  .  .  After  all,  too  great 
haste  might  be  indiscreet. 

"I  will,  Commissioner,"  she  promised,  with  an  arch 
smile.  "And  I  know  papa  will  be  so  grateful  to  you  for 
all  your  kindness  to  me!" 

It  was  at  this  critical  moment  that  Cassidy  entered 
ifrom  the  opposite  side  of  the  office.  As  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  girl  at  the  door  across  from  him,  his  stolid  face 
lighted  in  a  grin.  And,  in  that  same  instant  of  recog 
nition  between  the  two,  the  color  went  out  of  the  girl's 
face.  The  little  red  lips  snapped  together  in  a  line  of 
supreme  disgust  against  this  vicissitude  of  fate  after 
all  her  manoeuverings  in  the  face  of  the  enemy.  She 
stood  motionless  in  wordless  dismay,  impotent  before 
this  disaster  forced  on  her  by  untoward  chance. 

"Hello,  Aggie!"  the  detective  remarked,  with  a 
smirk,  while  the  Inspector  stared  from  one  to  the  other 
with  rounded  eyes  of  wonder,  and  his  jaw  dropped  from 
the  stark  surprise  of  this  new  development. 

The  girl  returned  deliberately  to  the  chair  she  had 
occupied  through  the  interview  with  the  Inspector,  and 
dropped  into  it  weakly.  Her  form  rested  there  limply 
now,  and  the  blue  eyes  stared  disconsolately  at  the 
blank  wall  before  her.  She  realized  that  fate  had  de 
creed  defeat  for  her  in  the  game.  It  was  after  a  minute 


288  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

of  silence  in  which  the  two  men  sat  staring  that  at  last 
she  spoke  with  a  savage  wrath  against  the  pit  into  which 
she  had  fallen  after  her  arduous  efforts. 

"Ain't  that  the  damnedest  luck!" 

For  a  little  interval  still,  Burke  turned  his  glances 
from  the  girl  to  Cassidy,  and  then  back  again  to  the 
girl,  who  sat  immobile  with  her  blue  eyes  steadfastly 
fixed  on  the  wall.  The  police  official  was,  in  truth, 
totally  bewildered.  Here  was  inexplicable  mystery. 
Finally,  he  addressed  the  detective  curtly. 

"Cassidy,  do  you  know  this  woman?" 

"Sure,  I  do!"  came  the  placid  answer.  He  went  on 
to  explain  with  the  direct  brevity  of  his  kind.  "She's 
little  Aggie  Lynch — con'  woman,  from  Buffalo — two 
years  for  blackmail — did  her  time  at  Burnsing." 

With  this  succinct  narrative  concerning  the  girl  who 
sat  mute  and  motionless  in  the  chair  with  her  eyes  fast 
on  the  wall,  Cassidy  relapsed  into  silence,  during  which 
he  stared  rather  perplexedly  at  his  chief,  who  seemed  to 
be  in  the  throes  of  unusual  emotion.  As  the  detective 
expressed  it  in  his  own  vernacular:  For  the  first  time  in 
his  experience,  the  Inspector  appeared  to  be  actually 
"rattled." 

For  a  little  time,  there  was  silence,  the  while  Burke 
sat  staring  at  the  averted  face  of  the  girl.  His  expres 
sion  was  that  of  one  who  has  just  undergone  a  soul- 
stirring  shock.  Then,  presently,  he  set  his  features 
grimly,  rose  from  his  chair,  and  walked  to  a  position 
directly  in  the  front  of  the  girl,  who  still  refused  to  look 
in  his  direction. 


AGGIE  AT  BAY  289 

"Young  woman "  he  began,  severely.    Then,  of 

a  sudden  he  laughed.  "You  picked  the  right  business, 
all  right,  all  right!"  he  said,  with  a  certain  enthusiasm. 
He  laughed  aloud  until  his  eyes  were  only  slits,  and  his 
ample  paunch  trembled  vehemently. 

"Well,"  he  went  on,  at  last,  "I  certainly  have  to  hand 
it  to  you,  kid.  You're  a  beautM" 

Aggie  sniffed  vehemently  in  rebuke  of  the  gross  par 
tiality  of  fate  in  his  behalf. 

"Just  as  I  had  him  goin' !"  she  said  bitterly,  as  if  in 
self-communion,  without  shifting  her  gaze  from  the 
blank  surface  of  the  wall. 

Now,  however,  Burke  was  reminded  once  again  of 
his  official  duties,  and  he  turned  quickly  to  the  attentive 
Cassidy. 

"Have  you  got  a  picture  of  this  young  woman?"  he 
asked  brusquely.  And  when  Cassidy  had  replied  in  the 
negative,  he  again  faced  the  adventuress  with  a  mock 
ing  grin — in  which  mockery,  too,  was  a  fair  fragment 
for  himself,  who  had  been  so  thoroughly  within  her 
toils  of  blandishment. 

"I'd  dearly  love  to  have  a  photograph  of  you,  Miss 
Helen  Travers  West,"  he  said. 

The  speech  aroused  the  stolid  detective  to  a  new  in 
terest. 

"Helen  Travers  West?"  he  repeated,  inquiringly. 

"Oh,  that's  the  name  she  told  me,"  the  Inspector  ex 
plained,  somewhat  shamefacedly  before  this  question 
from  his  inferior.  Then  he  chuckled,  for  he  had  sense 
of  humor  sufficient  to  triumph  even  over  his  own  discom- 


290  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

fiture  In  this  encounter.  "And  she  had  me  winging, 
too !"  he  confessed.  "Yes,  I  admit  it."  He  turned  to 
the  girl  admiringly.  "You  sure  are  immense,  little  one 
— immense!"  He  smiled  somewhat  more  in  his  offi 
cial  manner  of  mastery.  "And  now,  may  I  have  the 
honor  of  asking  you  to  accept  the  escort  of  Mr.  Cas- 
sidy  to  our  gallery." 

Aggie  sprang  to  her  feet  and  regarded  the  Inspector 
with  eyes  in  which  was  now  no  innocence,  such  as  had 
beguiled  him  so  recently  from  those  ingenuous  orbs. 

"Oh,  can  that  stuff!"  she  cried,  crossly.  "Let's  get 
down  to  business  on  the  dot — and  no  frills  on  it !  Keep 
to  cases !" 

"Now  you're  talking,"  Burke  declared,  with  a  new 
appreciation  of  the  versatility  of  this  woman — who  had 
not  been  wasting  her  time  hitherto,  and  had  no  wish 
to  lose  it  now. 

"You  can't  do  anything  to  us,"  Aggie  declared, 
strongly.  There  remained  no  trace  of  the  shrinking 
violet  that  had  been  Miss  Helen  Travers  West.  Now, 
she  revealed  merely  the  business  woman  engaged  in  a 
fight  against  the  law,  which  was  opposed  definitely  to 
iher  peculiar  form  of  business. 

"You  can't  do  anything  to  me,  and  you  know  you 
can't!"  she  went  on,  with  an  almost  convincing  tran 
quillity  of  assertion.  "Why,  I'll  be  sprung  inside  an 
hour."  There  came  a  ripple  of  laughter  that  reminded 
the  Inspector  of  the  fashion  in  which  he  had  been  over 
come  by  this  woman's  wiles.  And  she  spoke  with  a 


'AGGIE  AT  BAY  291 

certitude  of  conviction  that  was  rather  terrifying  to  one 
who  had  just  fallen  under  the  stress  of  her  spells. 

"Why,  habeas  corpus  is  my  lawyer's  middle  name!'* 

uOn  the  level,  now,"  the  Inspector  demanded,  quite 
unmoved  by  the  final  declarations,  "when  did  you  see 
Mary  Turner  last?" 

Aggie  resorted  anew  to  her  practises  of  deception. 
Her  voice  held  the  accents  of  unimpeachable  truth,  and 
her  eyes  looked  unflinchingly  into  those  of  her  ques 
tioner  as  she  answered. 

"Early  this  morning,"  she  declared.  "We  slept  to 
gether  last  night,  because  I  had  the  willies.  She  blew 
the  joint  about  half-past  ten." 

Burke  shook  his  head,  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

"What's  the  use  of  your  lying  to  me?"  he  remon 
strated. 

"What,  me?"  Aggie  clamored,  with  every  evidence  of 
being  deeply  wounded  by  the  charge  against  her  ver 
acity.  "Oh,  I  wouldn't  do  anything  like  that — on  the 
level !  What  would  be  the  use  ?  I  couldn't  fool  you, 
Commissioner." 

Burke  stroked  his  chin  sheepishly,  under  the  influence 
of  memories  of  Miss  Helen  Travers  West. 

"So  help  me,"  Aggie  continued  with  the  utmost  sol 
emnity,  "Mary  never  left  the  house  all  night.  I'd  swear 
that's  the  truth  on  a  pile  of  Bibles  a  mile  high !" 

"Have  to  be  higher  than  that,"  the  Inspector  com 
mented,  grimly.  "You  see,  Aggie  Lynch,  Mary  Turner 
was  arrested  just  after  midnight."  His  voice  deepened 


292  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

and  came  blustering.  "Young  woman,  you'd  better 
tell  all  you  know." 

"I  don't  know  a  thing!"  Aggie  retorted,  sharply.  She 
faced  the  Inspector  fiercely,  quite  unabashed  by  the  fact 
that  her  vigorous  offer  to  commit  perjury  had  been  of 
no  avail. 

Burke,  with  a  quick  movement,  drew  the  pistol  from 
his  pocket  and  extended  it  toward  the  girl. 

"How  long  has  she  owned  this  gun?"  he  said,  threat 
eningly. 

Aggie  showed  no  trace  of  emotion  as  her  glance 
ran  over  the  weapon. 

"She  didn't  own  it,"  was  her  firm  answer. 

"Oh,  then  it's  Garson's!"  Burke  exclaimed. 

"I  don't  know  whose  it  is,"  Aggie  replied,  with  an  air 
of  boredom  well  calculated  to  deceive.  "I  never  laid 
eyes  on  it  till  now." 

The  Inspector's  tone  abruptly  took  on  a  somber  col 
oring,  with  an  underlying  menace. 

"English  Eddie  was  killed  with  this  gun  last  night," 
he  said.  "Now,  who  did  it?"  His  broad  face  was 
sinister.  "Come  on,  now!  Who  did  it?" 

Aggie  became  flippant,  seemingly  unimpressed  by  the 
Inspector's  savageness. 

"How  should  I  know?"  she  drawled.  "What  do  you 
think  I  am — a  fortune-teller?" 

"You'd  better  come  through,"  Burke  reiterated.  Then 
his  manner  changed  to  wheedling.  "If  you're  the  wise 
kid  I  think  you  are,  you  will." 

Aggie  waxed  very  petulant  over  this  insistence. 


AGGIE  AT  BAY  293 

"I  tell  you,  I  don't  know  anything!  Say,  what  are 
you  trying  to  hand  me,  anyway?" 

Burke  scowled  on  the  girl  portentously,  and  shook 
his  head. 

"Now,  it  won't  do,  I  tell  you,  Aggie  Lynch.  I'm 
wise.  You  listen  to  me."  Once  more  his  manner  turned 
to  the  cajoling.  "You  tell  me  what  you  know,  and  I'll 
see  you  make  a  clean  get-away,  and  I'll  slip  you  a  nice 
little  piece  of  money,  too." 

The  girl's  face  changed  with  startling  swiftness.  She 
regarded  the  Inspector  shrewdly,  a  crafty  glint  in  her 
eyes. 

"Let  me  get  this  straight,"  she  said.  "If  I  tell  you 
what  I  know  about  Mary  Turner  and  Joe  Garson,  I  get 
away?" 

"Clean !"  Burke  ejaculated,  eagerly. 

"And  you'll  slip  me  some  coin,  too?" 

"That's  it!"  came  the  hasty  assurance.  "Now,  what 
do  you  say?" 

The  small  figure  grew  tense.  The  delicate,  childish 
face  was  suddenly  distorted  with  rage,  a  rage  black 
and  venomous.  The  blue  eyes  were  blazing.  The  voice 
came  thin  and  piercing. 

"I  say,  you're  a  great  big  stiff !  What  do  you  think 
I  am  ?"  she  stormed  at  the  discomfited  Inspector,  while 
Cassidy  looked  on  in  some  enjoyment  at  beholding  his 
superior  being  worsted.  Aggie  wheeled  on  the  detec 
tive.  "Say,  take  me  out  of  here,"  she  cried  in  a  voice 
surcharged  with  disgust.  "I'd  rather  be  in  the  cooler 
than  here  with  him !" 


294  WITHIN  THE  LAW. 

Now  Burke's  tone  was  dangerous. 

"You'll  tell,"  he  growled,  uor  you'll  go  up  the  river 
for  a  stretch." 

"I  don't  know  anything,"  the  girl  retorted,  spiritedly. 
And,  if  I  did,  I  wouldn't  tell— not  in  a  million  years!" 
She  thrust  her  head  forward  challengingly  as  she  faced 
'the  Inspector,  and  her  expression  was  resolute.  "Now, 
then,"  she  ended,  "send  me  up — if  you  can!" 

"Take  her  away,"  Burke  snapped  to  the  detective. 

Aggie  went  toward  Cassidy  without  any  sign  of  re 
luctance. 

"Yes,  do,  please !"  she  exclaimed  with  a  sneer.  "And 
do  it  in  a  hurry.  Being  in  the  room  with  him  makes  me 
sick!"  She  turned  to  stare  at  the  Inspector  with  eyes 
that  were  very  clear  and  very  hard.  In  this  moment, 
there  was  nothing  childish  in  their  gaze. 

"Thought  I'd  squeal,  did  you?"  she  said,  evenly. 
"Yes,  I  will"— the  red  lips  bent  to  a  smile  of  supreme 
scorn— "like  hell!" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED. 

Burke,  despite  his  quality  of  heaviness,  was  blest  with 
a  keen  sense  of  humor,  against  which  at  times  his  pro 
fessional  labors  strove  mutinously.  In  the  present  in 
stance,  he  had  failed  utterly  to  obtain  any  information 
of  value  from  the  girl  whom  he  had  just  been  exam 
ining.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  been  befooled  out 
rageously  by  a  female  criminal,  in  a  manner  to  wound 
deeply  his  professional  pride.  Nevertheless,  he  bore  no 
grudge  against  the  adventuress.  His  sense  of  the  ab 
surd  served  him  well,  and  he  took  a  lively  enjoyment  in 
recalling  the  method  by  which  her  plausible  wiles  had 
beguiled  him.  He  gave  her  a  real  respect  for  the  adroit 
ness  with  which  she  had  deceived  him — and  he  was  not 
one  to  be  readily  deceived.  So,  now,  as  the  scornful 
maiden  went  out  of  the  door  under  the  escort  of  Cas- 
sidy,  Burke  bowed  gallantly  to  her  lithe  back,  and  blew 
a  kiss  from  his  thick  fingertips,  in  mocking  reverence 
for  her  as  an  artist  in  her  way.  Then,  he  seated  him 
self,  pressed  the  desk  call-button,  and,  when  he  had 
learned  that  Edward  Gilder  was  arrived,  ordered  that 
the  magnate  and  the  District  Attorney  be  admitted,  and 
that  the  son,  also,  be  sent  up  from  his  cell. 

"It's  a  bad  business,  sir,"  Burke  said,  with  hearty 

295 


296  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

sympathy,  to  the  shaken  father,  after  the  formal  greet 
ings  that  followed  the  entrance  of  the  two  men.  "It's 
a  very  bad  business." 

"What  does  he  say?"  Gilder  questioned.  There  was 
something  pitiful  in  the  distress  of  this  man,  usually  so 
strong  and  so  certain  of  his  course.  Now,  he  was  hesi 
tant  in  his  movements,  and  his  mellow  voice  came  more 
weakly  than  its  wont.  There  was  a  pathetic  pleading 
in  the  dulled  eyes  with  which  he  regarded  the  Inspector. 

"Nothing !"  Burke  answered.  "That's  why  I  sent  for 
you.  I  suppose  Mr.  Demarest  has  made  the  situation 
plain  to  you." 

Gilder  nodded,  his  face  miserable. 

"Yes,"  he  has  explained  it  to  me,"  he  said  in  a  life 
less  voice.  "It's  a  terrible  position  for  my  boy.  But 
you'll  release  him  at  once,  won't  you?"  Though  he 
strove  to  put  confidence  into  his  words,  his  painful  doubt 
was  manifest. 

"I  can't,"  Burke  replied,  reluctantly,  but  bluntly.  "You 
ought  not  to  expect  it,  Mr.  Gilder." 

"But,"  came  the  protest,  delivered  with  much  more 
spirit,  "you  know  very  well  that  he  didn't  do  it!" 

Burke  shook  his  head  emphatically  in  denial  of  the 
allegation. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it — yet,"  he  contra 
dicted. 

The  face  of  the  magnate  went  white  with  fear. 

"Inspector,"  he  cried  brokenly,  "you — don't  mean — " 

Burke  answered  with  entire  candor. 

"I  mean,  Mr.  Gilder,  that  you've  got  to  make  him 


THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED  297 

talk.  That's  what  I  want  you  to  do,  for  all  our  sakes. 
Will  you?" 

"I'll  do  my  best,"  the  unhappy  man  replied,  forlornly. 

A  minute  later,  Dick,  in  charge  of  an  officer,  was 
brought  into  the  room.  He  was  pale,  a  little  disheveled 
from  his  hours  in  a  cell.  He  still  wore  his  evening 
clothes  of  the  night  before.  His  face  showed  clearly 
the  deepened  lines,  graven  by  the  suffering  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected,  but  there  was  no  weakness  in  his 
expression.  Instead,  a  new  force  that  love  and  sorrow 
had  brought  out  in  his  character  was  plainly  visible.  The 
strength  of  his  nature  was  springing  to  full  life  under 
the  stimulus  of  the  ordeal  through  which  he  was  passing. 

The  father  went  forward  quickly,  and  caught  Dick's 
hands  in  a  mighty  grip. 

"My  boy!"  he  murmured,  huskily.  Then,  he  made 
a  great  effort,  and  controlled  his  emotion  to  some  ex 
tent.  "The  Inspector  tells  me,"  he  went  on,  "that 
you've  refused  to  talk — to  answer  his  questions." 

Dick,  too,  winced  under  the  pain  of  this  meeting  with 

his  father  in  a  situation  so  sinister.    But  he  was,  to  some 

degree,  apathetic  from  over-much  misery.    Now,  in  re- 

I  ply  to  his  father's  words,  he  only  nodded  a  quiet  assent. 

"That  wasn't  wise  under  the  circumstances,"  the  fath 
er  remonstrated  hurriedly.  "However,  now,  Demarest 
and  I  are  here  to  protect  your  interests,  so  that  you  can 
talk  freely."  He  went  on  with  a  little  catch  of  anxiety 
in  his  voice.  "Now,  Dick,  tell  us!  Who  killed  that 
man?  We  must  know.  Tell  me." 


'298  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Burke  broke  in  impatiently,  with  his  blustering  fash 
ion  of  address. 

"Where  did  you  get ?" 

But  Demarest  raised  a  restraining  hand. 

"Wait,  please !"  he  admonished  the  Inspector.  "You 
wait  a  bit."  He  went  a  step  toward  the  young  man. 
"Give  the  boy  a  chance,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  very 
friendly  as  he  went  on  speaking.  "Dick,  I  don't  want 
to  frighten  you,  but  your  position  is  really  a  dangerous 
one.  Your  only  chance  is  to  speak  with  perfect  frank 
ness.  I  pledge  you  my  word,  I'm  telling  the  truth, 
Dick."  There  was  profound  concern  in  the  lawyer's 
thin  face,  and  his  voice,  trained  to  oratorical  arts,  was 
emotionally  persuasive.  "Dick,  my  boy,  I  want  you  to 
forget  that  I'm  the  Pistrict  Attorney,  and  remember 
only  that  I'm  an  old  friend  of  yours,  and  of  your  fath 
er's,  who  is  trying  very  hard  to  help  you.  Surely,  you 
can  trust  me.  Now,  Dick,  tell  me :  Who  shot  Griggs  ?" 

There  came  a  long  pause.  Burke's  face  was  avid  with 
desire  for  knowledge,  with  the  keen  expectancy  of  the 
hunter  on  the  trail,  which  was  characteristic  of  him  in 
his  professional  work.  The  District  Attorney  himself 
was  less  vitally  eager,  but  his  curiosity,  as  well  as  his 
wish  to  escape  from  an  embarrassing  situation,  showed 
openly  on  his  alert  countenance.  The  heavy  features 
of  the  father  were  twisting  a  little  in  nervous  spasms, 
for  to  him  this  hour  was  all  anguish,  since  his  only  son 
was  in  such  horrible  plight.  Dick  alone  seemed  almost 
tranquil,  though  the  outward  calm  was  belied  by  the 
flickering  of  his  eyelids  and  the  occasional  involuntary 


THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED  299 

movement  of  the  lips.  Finally  he  spoke,  in  a  cold, 
weary  voice. 

"I  shot  Griggs,"  he  said. 

Demarest  realized  subtly  that  his  plea  had  failed,  but 
he  made  ar  effort  to  resist  the  impression,  to  take  the 
admission  at  its  face  value. 

"Why?"  he  demanded. 

Dick's  answer  came  in  the  like  unmeaning  tones,  and 
as  wearily. 

"Because  I  thought  he  was  a  burglar." 

The  District  Attorney  was  beginning  to  feel  his  pro 
fessional  pride  aroused  against  this  young  man  who  so 
flagrantly  repelled  his  attempts  to  learn  the  truth  con 
cerning  the  crime  that  had  been  committed.  He  re 
sorted  to  familiar  artifices  for  entangling  one  ques 
tioned. 

"Oh,  I  see !"  he  said,  in  a  tone  of  conviction.  "Now, 
let's  go  back  a  little.  Burke  says  you  told  him  last  night 
that  you  had  persuaded  your  wife  to  come  over  to  the 
house,  and  join  you  there.  Is  that  right?" 

"Yes."    The  monosyllable  was  uttered  indifferently. 

"And,  while  the  two  of  you  were  talking,"  Demarest 
continued  in  a  matter-of-fact  manner.  He  did  not  con 
clude  the  sentence,  but  asked  instead:  "Now,  tell  me, 
Dick,  just  what  did  happen,  won't  you?" 

There  was  no  reply;  and,  after  a  little  interval,  the 
lawyer  resumed  his  questioning. 

"Did  this  burglar  oome  into  the  room?" 

Dick  nodded  an  assent. 

"And  he  attacked  you  ?" 


300  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

There  came  another  nod  of  affirmation. 

"And  there  was  a  struggle?" 

"Yes,"  Dick  said,  and  now  there  was  resolution  in  his 
answer. 

"And  you  shot  him?"  Demarest  asked,  smoothly. 

"Yes,"  the  young  man  said  again. 

"Then,"  the  lawyer  countered  on  the  instant,  "where 
did  you  get  the  revolver?" 

Dick  started  to  answer  without  thought: 

"Why,  I  grabbed  it "  Then,  the  significance  of 

this  crashed  on  his  consciousness,  and  he  checked  the 
words  trembling  on  his  lips.  His  eyes,  which  had  been 
downcast,  lifted  and  glared  on  the  questioner.  "So," 
he  said  with  swift  hostility  in  his  voice,  "so,  you're  try 
ing  to  trap  me,  too !"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  a 
way  he  had  learned  abroad.  "You !  And  you  talk  of 
friendship.  I  want  none  of  such  friendship." 

Demarest,  greatly  disconcerted,  was  skilled,  never 
theless,  in  dissembling,  and  he  hid  his  chagrin  perfectly. 
There  was  only  reproach  in  his  voice  as  he  answered 
stoutly : 

"I  am  your  friend,  Dick." 

But  Burke  would  be  no  longer  restrained.  He  had 
listened  with  increasing  impatience  to  the  diplomatic 
efforts  of  the  District  Attorney,  which  had  ended  in 
total  rout.  Now,  he  insisted  on  employing  his  own  more 
drastic,  and,  as  he  believed,  more  efficacious,  methods. 
He  stood  up,  and  spoke  in  his  most  threatening  manner. 

"You  don't  want  to  take  us  for  foolst  young  man," 
he  said,  and  his  big  tones  rumbled  harsnly  through  the 


THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED  301 

room.  "If  you  shot  Griggs  in  mistake  for  a  burglar, 
why  did  you  try  to  hide  the  fact?  Why  did  you  pre 
tend  to  me  that  you  and  your  wife  were  alone  in  the 
room — when  you  had  that  there  with  you,  eh?  Why 
didn't  you  call  for  help?  Why  didn't  you  call  for  the 
police,  as  any.  honest  man  would  naturally  under  such 
circumstances?" 

The  arraignment  was  severely  logical.  Dick  showed 
his  appreciation  of  the  justice  of  it  in  the  whitening  of 
his  face,  nor  did  he  try  to  answer  the  charges  thus 
hurled  at  him. 

The  father,  too,  appreciated  the  gravity  of  the  situa 
tion.  His  face  was  working,  as  if  toward  tears. 

"We're  trying  to  save  you,"  he  pleaded,  tremulously. 

Burke  persisted  in  his  vehement  system  of  attack. 
Now,  he  again  brought  out  the  weapon  that  had  done 
Eddie  Griggs  to  death. 

"Where'd  you  get  this  gun?"  he  shouted. 

Dick  held  his  tranquil  pose. 

"I  won't  talk  any  more,"  he  answered,  simply.  "I 
must  see  my  wife  first."  His  voice  became  more  ag 
gressive.  "I  want  to  know  what  you've  done  to  her." 

Burke  seized  on  this  opening. 

"Did  she  kill  Griggs?'  he  questioned,  roughly. 

For  once,  Dick  was  startled  out  of  his  calm. 

"No,  no!"  he  cried,  desperately. 

Burke  followed  up  his  advantage. 

uThen,  who  did?"  he  demanded,  sharply.  "Who 
did?" 

Now,  however,  the  young  man  had  regained  his  self- 


302  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

control.  He  answered  very  quietly,  but  with  an  air  of 
finality. 

"I  won't  say  any  more  until  I've  talked  with  a  lawyer 
whom  I  can  trust."  He  shot  a  vindictive  glance  toward 
Demarest. 

The  father  intervened  with  a  piteous  eagerness. 

"Dick,  if  you  know  who  killed  this  man,  you  must 
speak  to  protect  yourself." 

Burke's  voice  came  viciously. 

"The  gun  was  found  on  you.    Don't  forget  that." 

"You  don't  seem  to  realize  the  position  you're  in," 
the  father  insisted,  despairingly.  "Think  of  me,  Dick, 
my  boy.  If  you  won't  speak  for  your  own  sake,  do  it 
for  mine." 

The  face  of  the  young  man  softened  as  he  met  his 
father's  beseeching  eyes. 

"I'm  sorry,  Dad,"  he  said,  very  gently.  "But  I — * 
well,  I  can't!" 

Again,  Burke  interposed.  His  busy  brain  was  work 
ing  out  a  new  scheme  for  solving  this  irritating  problem. 

"I'm  going  to  give  him  a  little  more  time  to  think 
things  over,"  he  said,  curtly.  He  went  back  to  his  chair. 
"Perhaps  he'll  get  to  understand  the  importance  of  what 
we've  been  saying  pretty  soon."  He  scowled  at  Dick. 
"Now,  young  man,"  he  went  on  briskly,  "you  want  to 
do  a  lot  of  quick  thinking,  and  a  lot  of  honest  thinking, 
and,  when  you're  ready  to  tell  the  truth,  let  me  know." 

He  pressed  the  button  on  his  desk,  and,  as  the  door 
man  appeared,  addressed  that  functionary. 


THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED  303 

"Dan,  have  one  of  the  men  take  him  back.  You 
wait  outside." 

Dick,  however,  did  not  move.  His  voice  came  with 
a  note  of  determination. 

"I  want  to  know  about  my  wife.    Where  is  she?" 
Burke  disregarded  the  question  as  completely  as  if  it 
had  not  been  uttered,  and  went  on  speaking  to  the  door 
man  with  a  suggestion  in  his  words  that  was  effective. 

"He's  not  to  speak  to  any  one,  you  understand." 
Then  he  condescended  to  give  his  attention  to  the  pris 
oner.  "You'll  know  all  about  your  wife,  young  man, 
when  you  make  up  your  mind  to  tell  me  the  truth." 

Dick  gave  no  heed  to  the  Inspector's  statement.  His 
eyes  were  fixed  on  his  father,  and  there  was  a  great  ten 
derness  in  their  depths.  And  he  spoke  very  softly: 

"Dad,  I'm  sorry!" 

The  father's  gaze  met  the  son's,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
two  locked.  There  was  no  other  word  spoken.  Dick 
turned,  and  followed  his  custodian  out  of  the  office  in 
silence.  Even  after  the  shutting  of  the  door  behind 
the  prisoner,  the  pause  endured  for  some  moments. 

Then,  at  last,  Burke  spoke  to  the  magnate. 

"You  see,  Mr.  Gilder,  what  we're  up  against.  I  canY 
let  him  go — yet!" 

The  father  strode  across  the  room  in  a  sudden  access 
of  rage. 

"He's  thinking  of  that  woman,"  he  cried  out,  in  a 
loud  voice.  "He's  trying  to  shield  her." 

"He's  a  loyal  kid,  at  that,"  Burke  commented,  with  a 
grudging  admiration.  "I'll  say  that  much  for  him." 


3o4  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

His  expression  grew  morose,  as  again  he  pressed  the 
button  on  his  desk.  "And  now,"  he  vouchsafed,  "I'll 
show  you  the  difference."  Then,  as  the  doorman  re 
appeared,  he  gave  his  order:  "Dan,  have  the  Turner 
woman  brought  up."  He  regarded  the  two  men  with 
his  bristling  brows  pulled  down  in  a  scowl.  "I'll  have 
to  try  a  different  game  with  her,"  he  said,  thoughtfully., 
"She  sure  is  one  clever  little  dame.  But,  if  she  didn't 
do  it  herself,  she  knows  who  did,  all  right."  Again, 
Burke's  voice  took  on  its  savage  note.  "And  some  one's 
got  to  pay  for  killing  Griggs.  I  don't  have  to  explain 
why  to  Mr.  Demarest,  but  to  you,  Mr.  Gilder.  You  see, 
it's  this  way:  The  very  foundations  of  the  work  done  by 
this  department  rest  on  the  use  of  crooks,  who  are  will 
ing  to  betray  their  pals  for  coin.  I  told  you  a  bit  about 
it  last  night.  Now,  you  understand,  if  Griggs's  mur 
der  goes  unpunished,  it'll  put  the  fear  of  God  into  the 
heart  of  every  stool-pigeon  we  employ.  And  then 
where'd  we  be ?  Tell  me  that !" 

The  Inspector  next  called  his  stenographer,  and  gave 
explicit  directions.  At  the  back  of  the  room,  beh'nd  the 
desk,  were  three  large  windows,  which  opened  on  a  cor 
ridor,  and  across  this  was  a  tier  of  cells.  The  stenog 
rapher  was  to  take  his  seat  in  this  corridor,  just  outside 
one  of  the  windows.  Over  the  windows,  the  shades 
were  drawn,  so  that  he  would  remain  invisible  to  any 
one  within  the  office,  while  yet  easily  able  to  overhear 
every  word  spoken  in  the  room. 

When  he  had  completed  his  instructions  to  the  stenog 
rapher,  Burke  turned  to  Gilder  and  Demarest. 


THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED  305 

"Now,  this  time,"  he  said  energetically,  "I'll  be  the 
one  to  do  the  talking.  And  get  this:  Whatever  you 
hear  me  say,  don't  you  be  surprised.  Remember,  we're 
dealing  with  crooks,  and,  when  you're  dealing  with 
crooks,  you  have  to  use  crooked  ways." 

There  was  a  brief  period  of  silence.  Then,  the  door 
opened,  and  Mary  Turner  entered  the  office.  She  walked 
slowly  forward,  moving  with  the  smooth  strength  and 
grace  that  were  the  proof  of  perfect  health  and  of  per 
fect  poise,  the  correlation  of  mind  and  body  in  exact 
ness.  Her  form,  clearly  revealed  by  the  clinging  even 
ing  dress,  was  a  curving  group  of  graces.  The  beauty 
of  her  face  was  enhanced,  rather  than  lessened,  by  the 
pallor  of  it,  for  the  fading  of  the  richer  colors  gave  to 
the  fine  features  an  expression  more  spiritual,  made 
plainer  the  underlying  qualities  that  her  accustomed  bril 
liance  might  half-conceal.  She  paid  absolutely  no  at 
tention  to  the  other  two  in  the  room,  but  went  straight 
to  the  desk,  and  there  halted,  gazing  with  her  softly 
penetrant  eyes  of  deepest  violet  into  the  face  of  the  In 
spector. 

Under  that  intent  scrutiny,  Burke  felt  a  challenge,  set 
himself  to  match  craft  with  craft.  He  was  not  likely  to 
undervalue  the  wits  of  one  who  had  so  often  flouted 
him,  who,  even  now,  had  placed  him  in  a  preposterous 
predicament  by  this  entanglement  over  the  death  of  a 
spy.  But  he  was  resolved  to  use  his  best  skill  to  dis 
arm  her  sophistication.  His  large  voice  was  modulated 
to  kindliness  as  he  spoke  in  a  casual  manner. 

"I  just  sent  for  you  to  tell  you  that  you're  free." 


306  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Mary  regarded  the  speaker  with  an  impenetrable  ex 
pression.  Her  tones  as  she  spoke  were  quite  as  matter- 
of-fact  as  his  own  had  been.  In  them  was  no  wonder, 
no  exultation. 

"Then,  I  can  go,"  she  said,  simply. 

"Sure,  you  can  go,"  Burke  replied,  amiably. 

Without  any  delay,  yet  without  any  haste,  Mary 
glanced  toward  Gilder  and  Demarest,  who  were  watch 
ing  the  scene  closely.  Her  eyes  were  somehow  apprais 
ing,  but  altogether  indifferent.  Then,  she  went  toward 
the  outer  door  of  the  office,  still  with  that  almost  lacka 
daisical  air. 

Burke  waited  rather  impatiently  until  she  had  nearly 
reached  the  door  before  he  shot  his  bolt,  with  ?  fine 
assumption  of  carelessness  in  the  announcement. 

"Garson  has  confessed!" 

Mary,  who  readily  enough  had  already  guessed  the 
essential  hypocrisy  of  all  this  play,  turned  and  con 
fronted  the  Inspector,  and  answered  without  the  least 
trace  of  fear,  but  with  the  firmness  of  knowledge : 

"Oh,  no,  he  hasn't!" 

Her  attitude  exasperated  Burke.  His  voice  roared 
out  wrathfully. 

"What's  the  reason  he  hasn't?" 

The  music  in  the  tones  of  the  answer  was  a  vocal  re 
buke. 

"Because  he  didn't  do  it."  She  stated  the  fact  as  one 
without  a  hint  of  any  contradictory  possibility. 

"Well,  he  says  he  did  it!"  Burke  vociferated,  still 
more  loudly. 


THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED  307 

Mary,  in  her  turn,  resorted  to  a  bit  of  finesse,  in  or 
der  to  learn  whether  or  not  Garson  had  been  arrested. 
She  spoke  with  a  trace  of  indignation. 

"But  how  could  he  have  done  it,  when  he  went 

she  began. 

The  Inspector  fell  a  victim  to  her  superior  craft.  His 
question  came  eagerly. 

"Where  did  he  go?" 

Mary  smiled  for  the  first  time  since  she  had  been  in 
the  room,  and  in  that  smile  the  Inspector  realized  his 
defeat  in  the  first  passage  of  this  game  of  intrigue  be 
tween  them. 

"You  ought  to  know,"  she  said,  sedately,  "since  you 
have  arrested  him,  and  he  has  confessed." 

Demarest  put  up  a  hand  to  conceal  his  smile  over  the 
police  official's  chagrin.  Gilder,  staring  always  at  this 
woman  who  had  come  to  be  his  Nemesis,  was  marveling 
over  the  beauty  and  verve  of  the  one  so  hating  him  as 
to  plan  the  ruin  of  his  life  and  his  son's. 

Burke  was  frantic  over  being  worsted  thus.  To  gain 
a  diversion,  he  reverted  to  his  familiar  bullying  tactics. 
His  question  burst  raspingly.  It  was  a  question  that 
had  come  to  be  constant  within  his  brain  during  the  last ; 
few  hours,  one  that  obsessed  him,  that  fretted  him  sore 
ly,  almost  beyond  endurance. 

"Who  shot  Griggs?"  he  shouted. 

Mary  rested  serene  in  the  presence  of  this  violence. 
Her  answer  capped  the  climax  of  the  officer's  exasper 
ation. 

"My  husband  shot  a  burglar,"  she  said,  languidly. 


308  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

And  then  her  insolence  reached  its  culmination  in  a  query 
of  her  own :  "Was  his  name  Griggs  ?"  It  was  done  with 
splendid  art,  with  a  splendid  mastery  of  her  own  emo 
tions,  for,  even  as  she  spoke  the  words,  she  was  remem 
bering  those  shuddering  seconds  when  she  had  stood, 
only  a  few  hours  ago,  gazing  down  at  the  inert  bulk 
that  had  been  a  man. 

Burke  betook  himself  to  another  form  of  attack. 

"Oh,  you  know  better  than  that,"  he  declared,  trucu 
lently.  "You  see,  we've  traced  the  Maxim  silencer. 
Garson  himself  bought  it  up  in  Hartford." 

For  the  first  time,  Mary  was  caught  off  her  guard. 

"But  he  told  me "  she  began,  then  became  aware 

of  her  indiscretion,  and  checked  herself. 

Burke  seized  on  her  lapse  with  avidity. 

"What  did  he  tell  you?"  he  questioned,  eagerly. 

Now,  Mary  had  regained  her  self-command,  and  she 
spoke  calmly. 

"He  told  me,"  she  said,  without  a  particle  of  hesita. 
tion,  "that  he  had  never  seen  one.  Surely,  if  he  had 
had  anything  of  the  sort,  he  would  have  shown  it  to  me 
then." 

"Probably  he  did,  too!"  Burke  rejoined,  without  the 
least  suspicion  that  his  surly  utterance  touched  the  truth 
exactly.  "Now,  see  here,"  he  went  on,  trying  to  make 
his  voice  affable,  though  with  small  success,  for  he  was 
excessively  irritated  by  these  repeated  failures;  "I  can 
make  it  a  lot  easier  for  you  if  you'll  talk.  Come  on, 
now!  Who  killed  Griggs?" 


THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED  309 

Mary  cast  off  pretense  finally,  and  spoke  malignantly. 

"That's  for  you  to  find  out,"  she  said,  sneering. 

Burke  pressed  the  button  on  the  desk,  and,  when  the 
doorman  appeared,  ordered  that  the  prisoner  be  re 
turned  to  her  cell. 

But  Mary  stood  rebellious,  and  spoke  with  a  resump 
tion  of  her  cynical  scorn. 

"I  suppose,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  of  contempt  to 
ward  Demarest,  "that  it's  useless  for  me  to  claim  my 
constitutional  rights,  and  demand  to  see  a  lawyer?" 

Burke,  too,  had  cast  off  pretense  at  last. 

"Yes,"  he  agreed,  with  an  evil  smirk,  "you've  guessed 
it  right,  the  first  time." 

Mary  spoke  to  the  District  Attorney. 

"I  believe,"  she  said,  with  a  new  dignity  of  bearing, 
"that  such  is  my  constitutional  right,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Dem 
arest?" 

The  lawyer  sought  no  evasion  of  the  issue.  For  that 
matter,  he  was  coming  to  have  an  increasing  respect, 
even  admiration,  for  this  young  woman,  who  endured 
insult  and  ignominy  with  a  spirit  so  sturdy,  and  met 
strategem  with  other  strategem  better  devised.  So,  now, 
he  made  his  answer  with  frank  honesty. 

"It  is  your  constitutional  right,  Miss  Turner." 

Mary  turned  her  clear  eyes  on  the  Inspector,  and 
awaited  from  that  official  a  reply  that  was  not  forth 
coming.  Truth  to  tell,  Burke  was  far  from  comfortable 
under  that  survey. 

"Well,  Inspector?"  she  inquired,  at  last. 


3io  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Burke  took  refuge,  as  his  wont  was  when  too  hard 
pressed,  in  a  mighty  bellow. 

"The  Constitution  don't  go  here!"  It  was  the  best 
he  could  do,  and  it  shamed  him,  for  he  knew  its  weak 
ness.  Again,  wrath  surged  in  him,  and  it  surged  high. 
He  welcomed  the  advent  of  Cassidy,  who  came  hurry 
ing  in  with  a  grin  of  satisfaction  on  his  stolid  face. 

"Say,  Chief,"  the  detective  said  with  animation,  in  re 
sponse  to  Burke's  glance  of  inquiry,  "we've  got  Garson." 

Mary's  face  fell,  though  the  change  of  expression  was 
almost  imperceptible.  Only  Demarest,  a  student  of 
much  experience,  observed  the  fleeting  display  of  re 
pressed  emotion.  When  the  Inspector  took  thought  to 
look  at  her,  she  was  as  impassive  as  before.  Yet,  he 
was  minded  to  try  another  ruse  in  his  desire  to  defeat 
the  intelligence  of  this  woman.  To  this  end,  he  asked 
Gilder  and  the  District  Attorney  to  withdraw,  while  he 
should  have  a  private  conversation  with  the  prisoner. 
As  she  listened  to  his  request,  Mary  smiled  again  in 
sphinx-like  fashion,  and  there  was  still  on  her  lips  an 
expression  that  caused  the  official  a  pang  of  doubt, 
when,  at  last,  the  two  were  left  alone  together,  and  he 
darted  a  surreptitious  glance  toward  her.  Neverthe 
less,  he  pressed  on  his  device  valiantly. 

"Now,"  he  said,  with  a  marked  softening  of  man 
ner,  "I'm  going  to  be  your  friend." 

"Are  you?"    Mary's  tone  was  non-committal. 

"Yes,"  Burke  declared,  heartily.  "And  I  mean  it! 
Give  up  the  truth  about  young  Gilder.  I  know  he  shot 
Griggs,  of  course.  But  I'm  not  taking  any  stock  in  that 


THE  TRAP  THA  T  FAILED  3 1 1 

burglar  story — not  a  little  bit !  No  court  would,  either. 
What  was  really  back  of  the  killing  ?"  Burke's  eyes  nar 
rowed  cunningly.  "Was  he  jealous  of  Griggs?  Well, 
that's  what  he  might  do  then.  He's  always  been  a 
worthless  young  cub.  A  rotten  deal  like  this  would  be 
about  his  gait,  I  guess.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  now:  Why  did 
he  shoot  Eddie  Griggs?" 

There  was  coarseness  a-plenty  in  the  Inspector's  pre 
tense,  but  it  possessed  a  solitary  fundamental  virtue :  it 
played  on  the  heart  of  the  woman  whom  he  questioned, 
aroused  it  to  wrath  in  defense  of  her  mate.  In  a  second, 
all  poise  fled  from  this  girl  whose  soul  was  blossom 
ing  in  the  blest  realization  that  a  man  loved  her  purely, 
unselfishly.  Her  words  came  stumblingly  in  their  haste. 
Her  eyes  were  near  to  black  in  their  anger. 

"He  didn't  kill  him !  He  didn't  kill  him !"  she  fairly 
hissed.  "Why,  he's  the  most  wonderful  man  in  the 
world.  You  sha'n't  hurt  him  !  Nobody  shall  hurt  him ! 
I'll  fight  to  the  end  of  my  life  for  Dick  Gilder!" 

Burke  was  beaming  joyously.  At  last — a  long  last! 
— his  finesse  had  won  the  victory  over  this  woman's  sub 
tleties. 

"Well,  that's  just  what  I  thought,"  he  said,  with  smug 
content.  "And  now,  then,  who  did  shoot  Griggs? 
We've  got  every  one  of  the  gang.  They're  all  crooks. 
See  here,"  he  went  on,  with  a  sudden  change  to  the  re 
spectful  in  his  manner,  "why  don't  you  start  fresh? 
I'll  give  you  every  chance  in  the  world.  I'm  dead  on 
the  level  with  you  this  time." 

But  he  was  too  late.    By  now,  Mary  had  herself  well 


312  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

in  hand  again,  vastly  ashamed  of  the  short  period  of 
self-betrayal  caused  by  the  official's  artifice  against  her 
heart.  As  she  listened  to  the  Inspector's  assurances,  the 
mocking  expression  of  her  face  was  not  encouraging  to 
that  astute  individual,  but  he  persevered  manfully. 

"Just  you  wait,"  he  went  on  cheerfully,  "and  I'll 
prove  to  you  that  I'm  on  the  level  about  this,  that  I'm 
really  your  friend.  .  .  .  There  was  a  letter  came  for 
you  to  your  apartment.  My  men  brought  it  down  to 
me.  I've  read  it.  Here  it  is.  I'll  read  it  to  you !" 

He  picked  up  an  envelope,  which  had  been  lying  on  the 
desk,  and  drew  out  the  single  sheet  of  paper  it  con 
tained.  Mary  watched  him,  wondering  much  more  than 
her  expression  revealed  over  this  new  development. 
Then,  as  she  listened,  quick  interest  touched  her  features 
to  a  new  life.  In  her  eyes  leaped  emotions  to  make  or 
mar  a  life. 

This  was  the  letter: 

"I  can't  go  without  telling  you  how  sorry  I  am.  There 
won't  never  be  a  time  that  I  won't  remember  it  was  me 
got  you  sent  up,  that  you  did  time  in  my  place.  I  ain't 
going  to  forgive  myself  ever,  and  I  swear  I'm  going 
straight  always. 

"Your  true  friend, 

"HELEN  MORRIS." 

For  once,  Burke  showed  a  certain  delicacy.  When  he 
had  finished  the  reading,  he  said  nothing  for  a  long  min 
ute — only,  sat  with  his  cunning  eyes  on  the  face  of  the 


THE  TRAP  THA  T  FAILED  3 1 3 

woman  who  was  immobile  there  before  him.  And,  as 
he  looked  on  her  in  her  slender  elegance  of  form  and 
gentlewomanly  loveliness  of  face,  a  loveliness  intelligent 
and  refined  beyond  that  of  most  women,  he  felt  borne 
in  on  his  consciousness  the  fact  that  here  was  one  to  be 
respected.  He  fought  against  the  impression.  It  was 
to  him  preposterous,  for  she  was  one  of  that  underworld 
against  which  he  was  ruthlessly  at  war.  Yet,  he  could 
not  altogether  overcome  his  instinct  toward  a  half-rev 
erent  admiration.  .  .  .  And,  as  the  letter  proved,  she 
had  been  innocent  at  the  outset.  She  had  been  the  vic 
tim  of  a  mistaken  justice,  made  outcast  by  the  law  she 
had  never  wronged.  .  .  .  His  mood  of  respect  was  in 
evitable,  since  he  had  some  sensibilities,  though  they 
were  coarsened,  and  they  sensed  vaguely  the  maelstrom 
of  emotions  that  now  swirled  in  the  girl's  breast. 

To  Mary  Turner,  this  was  the  wonderful  hour.  In 
it,  the  vindication  of  her  innocence  was  made  complete. 
The  story  was  there  recorded  in  black  and  white  on  the 
page  written  by  Helen  Morris.  It  mattered  little — or 
infinitely  much ! — that  it  came  too  late.  She  had  gained 
her  evil  place  in  the  world,  was  a  notorious  woman  in 
fact,  was  even  now  a  prisoner  under  suspicion  of  mur 
der.  Nevertheless,  she  felt  a  thrill  of  ecstasy  over  this 
written  document — which  it  had  never  occurred  to  her 
to  wrest  from  the  girl  at  the  time  of  the  oral  confes 
sion.  Now  that  it  had  been  proffered,  the  value  of  it 
loomed  above  almost  all  things  else  in  the  world.  It 
proclaimed  undeniably  the  wrong  under  which  she  had 
suffered.  She  was  not  the  thief  the  court  had  adjudged 


3i4  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

her.  She  had  a  right  to  the  respect  of  the  world  that 
had  condemned  her  unjustly.  Through  her  mind  un 
folded  the  panorama  of  the  years — years  black  and 
crimson,  years  of  irreparable  miseries.  But,  by  so  much, 
the  more  majestic  the  triumph  out  of  this  final  event! 
What  had  before  been  so  long  a  mystery,  known  to  her 
self  only  within  this  little  while,  now  was  become  a  mat 
ter  of  record,  for  all  to  read.  Her  acquired  instinct  of 
thinking  within  the  law  set  the  thing  before  her  as 
something  tremendous  in  its  significance.  This  was  a 
paper,  visible  evidence.  This  letter  from  the  con 
science-stricken  girl,  Helen  Morris,  was  sufficient  to 
prove  innocence  within  the  law.  .  .  .  Mary's  eyes  were 
luminous  in  the  joy  of  the  realization  that  for  her,  after 
all,  rehabilitation  might  be  in  a  measure  possible,  though 
nothing  could  ever  repay  the  degradation  of  years  in 
finitely  worse  than  lost. 

Burke's  harsh  voice,  cadenced  to  a  singular  sympathy, 
broke  in  on  her  reverie  of  pleasure  and  of  pain. 

"You  knew  this?"  he  inquired. 

"Yes,"  Mary  said,  frankly.     "Two  days  ago." 

Burke  forgot  his  professional  animosities  in  a  curios 
ity  that  was  a  credit  to  his  manhood. 

"Did  you  tell  old  Gilder?"  he  asked. 

Mary  shook  her  head  in  negation. 

"What  would  be  the  use?"  she  reminded  him.  "I 
had  no  proof.  No  one  would  believe  me." 

Of  a  sudden,  the  Inspector  realized  with  a  start  of 
self-reproach,  that  he  was  neglecting  an  opportunity. 


THE  TRAP  THAT  FAILED  315 

Thereat,  he  hastened  to  make  up  for  his  momentary 
lapse. 

"They'd  believe  this,"  he  said,  briskly.  "Why,  this 
letter  sets  you  clear.  If  old  Gilder  should  see  this  let 
ter,  there's  nothing  he  wouldn't  do  to  make  amends  to 
you.  He's  a  square  guy  himself,  if  it  comes  to  that, 
even  if  he  was  hard  on  you.  Why,  this  letter  wipes  out 
everything." 

Then,  the  insistent  question  beating  at  his  brain 
forced  him  to  speak  roughly,  building  hope  on  the  let 
ter's  inestimable  worth  to  the  woman  before  him. 

"Who  killed  Griggs?" 

There  was  no  reply.  And,  presently,  he  went  on, 
half-ashamed  over  his  own  intrigue  against  her. 

"Say,"  he  said,  and,  for  once,  his  voice  was  curiously 
suppressed,  "you  tell  me  who  shot  Griggs,  and  I'll  show 
this  letter  to  old  Gilder."  Again,  the  police  official  was 
in  the  ascendant.  He  forgot  his  sympathy  of  a  moment 
ago  in  his  zeal  as  a  tracer  of  crime.  He  pledged  him 
self  ruthlessly  to  a  lie. 

"Now,  listen,"  he  cried,  eagerly,  "I  give  you  my 
word  of  honor  that  anything  you  say  in  here  is  just 
between  you  and  me."  Unconsciously,  his  eyes  darted 
to  the  window,  behind  which  the  stenographer  was  busy 
with  his  notes. 

That  single  involuntary  glance  was  enough  for  the 
keen  instinct  of  the  woman  to  make  a  guess  as  to  the 
verity. 

"Just  tip  me  off  to  the  truth,"  Burke  went  on  ingrati 
atingly,  "and  I'll  get  the  necessary  evidence  in  my  own 


316  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

way.  Now,  there's  nobody  here  but  just  you  and  me. 
Come  on,  now — put  me  wise!" 

Mary  was  again  the  resourceful  woman  who  was  glad 
to  pit  her  brain  against  the  contriving  of  those  who 
fought  her.  So,  at  this  moment,  she  seemed  pliant  to  the 
will  of  the  man  who  urged  her  thus  cunningly.  Her 
quick  glance  around  the  office  was  of  a  sort  to  delude 
the  Inspector  into  a  belief  that  she  was  yielding  to  his 
lure. 

"Are  you  sure  no  one  will  ever  know?"  she  asked, 
timorously. 

"Nobody  but  you  and  me,"  Burke  declared,  all  agog 
with  anticipation  of  victory  at  last.  "I  give  you  my 
word!" 

Mary  met  the  gaze  of  the  Inspector  fully.  In  the 
same  instant,  she  flashed  on  him  a  smile  that  was  daz 
zling,  the  smile  of  a  woman  triumphant  in  her  mastery 
of  the  situation.  Her  face  was  radiant,  luminous  with 
honest  mirth.  There  was  something  simple  and  genu 
ine  in  her  beauty  that  thrilled  the  man  before  her,  the 
man  trying  so  vindictively  to  trap  her  to  her  own  un 
doing.  For  all  his  grossness,  Burke  was  of  shrewd  per 
ceptions,  and  somewhere,  half-submerged  under  the  sor 
did  nature  of  his  calling,  was  a  love  of  things  esthetic, 
a  responsiveness  to  the  appeals  of  beauty.  Now,  as  his 
glance  searched  the  face  of  the  girl  who  was  bubbling 
with  mirth,  he  experienced  an  odd  warming  of  his  heart 
under  the  spell  of  her  loveliness — a  loveliness  wholly 
feminine,  pervasive,  wholesome.  But,  too,  his  soul 
shook  in  a  premonition  of  catastrophe,  for  there  was 


THE  TRAP  THA  T  FAILED  3 1 7 

mischier  in  the  beaming  eyes  of  softest  violet.  There 
was  a  demon  of  mockery  playing  in  the  curves  of  the 
scarlet  lips,  as  she  smiled  so  winsomely. 

All  his  apprehensions  were  verified  by  her  utterance. 
It  came  in  a  most  casual  voice,  despite  the  dancing  de 
light  in  her  face.  The  tones  were  drawled  in  the  matter- 
of-fact  fashion  of  statement  that  leads  a  listener  to  an 
swer  without  heed  to  the  exact  import  of  the  question, 
unless  very  alert,  indeed.  .  .  .  This  is  what  she  said  in 
that  so-casual  voice : 

"I'm  not  speaking  loud  enough,  am  I,  stenographer?" 

And  that  industrious  writer  of  shorthand  notes,  ab 
sorbed  in  his  task,  answered  instantly  from  his  hidden 
place  in  the  corridor. 

uNo,  ma'am,  not  quite." 

Mary  laughed  aloud,  while  Burke  sat  dumfounded. 
She  rose  swiftly,  and  went  to  the  nearest  window,  and 
with  a  pull  at  the  cord  sent  the  shade  flying  upward. 
For  seconds,  there  was  revealed  the  busy  stenographer, 
bent  over  his  pad.  Then,  the  noise  of  the  ascending 
shade,  which  had  been  hammering  on  his  consciousness, 
penetrated,  and  he  looked  up.  Realization  came,  as  he 
beheld  the  woman  laughing  at  him  through  the  window. 
Consternation  beset  him.  He  knew  that,  somehow,  he 
had  bungled  fatally.  A  groan  of  distress  burst  from 
him,  and  he  fled  the  place  in  ignominious  rout. 

There  was  another  whose  spirit  was  equally  desirous 
of  flight — Burke!  Yet  once  again,  he  was  beaten  at  his 
own  game,  his  cunning  made  of  no  avail  against  the 
clever  interpretation  of  this  woman  whom  he  assailed. 


3i8  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

He  had  no  defense  to  offer.  He  did  not  care  to  meet 
her  gaze  just  then,  since  he  was  learning  to  respect  her 
as  one  wronged,  where  he  had  regarded  her  hitherto 
merely  as  of  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  criminal  class. 
So,  he  avoided  her  eyes  as  she  stood  by  the  window 
regarding  him  quizzically.  In  a  panic  of  confusion 
quite  new  to  him  in  his  years  of  experience,  he  pressed 
the  button  on  his  desk. 

The  doorman  appeared  with  that  automatic  precision 
which  made  him  valuable  in  his  position,  and  the  In-. 
spector  hailed  the  ready  presence  with  a  feeling  of  pro 
found  relief. 

"Dan,  take  her  back!"  he  said,  feebly. 

Mary  was  smiling  still  as  she  went  to  the  door.  But 
she  could  not  resist  the  impulse  toward  retort. 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  suavely;  "you  were  right  on  the 
level  with  me,  weren't  you,  Burke?  Nobody  here  but 
you  and  me !"  The  words  came  in  a  sing-song  of 
mockery. 

The  Inspector  had  nothing  in  the  way  of  answer— 
only,  sat  motionless  until  the  door  closed  after  her. 
Then,  left  alone,  his  sole  audible  comment  was  a  single 
word — one  he  had  learned,  perhaps,  from  Aggie  Lynch : 

"Hell!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  CONFESSION. 

Burke  was  a  persistent  man,  and  he  had  set  himself 
to  getting  the  murderer  of  Griggs.  Foiled  in  his  efforts 
thus  far  by  the  opposition  of  Mary,  he  now  gave  him 
self  over  to  careful  thought  as  to  a  means  of  procedure 
that  might  offer  the  best  possibilities  of  success.  His 
beetling  brows  were  drawn  in  a  frown  of  perplexity  for 
a  full  quarter  of  an  hour,  while  he  rested  motionless  in 
his  chair,  an  unlighted  cigar  between  his  lips.  Then, 
at  last,  his  face  cleared;  a  grin  of  satisfaction  twisted 
his  heavy  mouth,  and  he  smote  the  desk  joyously. 

"It's  a  cinch  it'll  get  'im!"  he  rumbled,  in  glee. 

He  pressed  the  button-call,  and  ordered  the  doorman 
to  send  in  Cassidy.  When  the  detective  appeared  a  min 
ute  later,  he  went  directly  to  his  subject  with  a  straight 
forward  energy  usual  to  him  in  his  work. 

"Does  Garson  know  we've  arrested  the  Turner  girl 
and  young  Gilder?"  And,  when  he  had  been  answered 
in  the  negative:  "Or  that  we've  got  Chicago  Red  and 
Dacey  here?" 

"No,"  Cassidy  replied.  "He  hasn't  been  spoken  to 
since  we  made  the  collar.  ...  He  seems  worried,"  the 
detective  volunteered. 

319 


320  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Burke's  broad  jowls  shook  from  the  force  with  whicK 
he  snapped  his  jaws  together. 

"He'll  be  more  worried  before  I  get  through  with 
him!"  he  growled.  He  regarded  Cassidy  speculatively. 
"Do  you  remember  the  Third  Degree  Inspector  Burns 
worked  on  McGloin?  Well,"  he  went  on,  as  the  detec 
tive  nodded  assent,  "that's  what  I'm  going  to  do  to 
Garson.  He's  got  imagination,  that  crook !  The  things 
he  don't  know  about  are  the  things  he's  afraid  of. 
After  he  gets  in  here,  I  want  you  to  take  his  pals  one 
after  the  other,  and  lock  them  up  in  the  cells  there  in 
the  corridor.  The  shades  on  the  corridor  windows  here 
will  be  up,  and  Garson  will  see  them  taken  in.  The  fact 
of  their  being  there  will  set  his  imagination  to  working 
overtime,  all  right." 

Burke  reflected  for  a  moment,  and  then  issued  the 
final  directions  for  the  execution  of  his  latest  plot. 

"When  you  get  the  buzzer  from  me,  you  have  young 
Gilder  and  the  Turner  woman  sent  in.  Then,  after  a 
while,  you'll  get  another  buzzer.  When  you  hear  that, 
come  right  in  here,  and  tell  me  that  the  gang  has 
squealed.  I'll  do  the  rest.  Bring  Garson  here  in  just 
five  minutes.  .  .  .  Tell  Dan  to  come  in.1' 

As  the  detective  went  out,  the  doorman  promptly  en 
tered,  and  thereat  Burke  proceeded  with  the  further  in 
structions  necessary  to  the  carrying  out  of  his  scheme. 

"Take  the  chairs  out  of  the  office,  Dan,"  he  directed, 
"except  mine  and  one  other — that  one !"  He  indicated 
a  chair  standing  a  little  way  from  one  end  of  his  desk. 
"Now,  have  all  the  shades  up."  He  chuckled  as  he. 


THE  CONFESSION  321 

added:  "That  Turner  woman  saved  you  the  trouble 
with  one." 

As  the  doorman  went  out  after  having  fulfilled  these 
commands,  the  Inspector  lighted  the  cigar  which  he  had 
retained  still  in  his  mouth,  and  then  seated  himself  in 
the  chair  that  was  set  partly  facing  the  windows  open 
ing  on  the  corridor.  He  smiled  with  anticipatory  tri 
umph  as  he  made  sure  that  the  whole  length  of  the  cor 
ridor  with  the  barred  doors  of  the  cells  was  plainly  vis 
ible  to  one  sitting  thus.  With  a  final  glance  about  to 
make  certain  that  all  was  in  readiness,  he  returned  to 
his  chair,  and,  when  the  door  opened,  he  was,  to  all 
appearances,  busily  engaged  in  writing. 

"Here's  Garson,  Chief,"  Cassidy  announced. 

"Hello,  Joe!"  Burke  exclaimed,  with  a  seeming  of 
careless  friendliness,  as  the  detective  went*<&ut,  and  Gar- 
son  stood  motionless  just  within  the  door. 

"Sit  down,  a  minute,  won't  you?"  the  Inspector  con 
tinued,  affably.  He  did  not  look  up  from  his  writing 
as  he  spoke. 

Garson's  usually  strong  face  was  showing  weak  with 
fear.  His  chin,  which  was  commonly  very  firm,  moved 
a  little  from  uneasy  twitchings  of  his  lips.  His  clear 
eyes  were  slightly  clouded  to  a  look  of  apprehension, 
as  they  roved  the  room  furtively.  Fie  made  no  answer 
to  the  Inspector's  greeting  for  a  few  moments,  but  re 
mained  standing  without  movement,  poised  alertly  as  if 
sensing  some  concealed  peril.  Finally,  however,  his 
anxiety  found  expression  in  words.  His  tone  was  preg- 


322  WITHIN  THE  LAWt 

nant  with  alarm,  though  he  strove  to  make  it  merely 
complaining. 

"Say,  what  am  I  arrested  for?"  he  protested.  "I  ain't 
done  anything." 

Even  now,  Burke  did  not  look  up,  and  his  pen  con 
tinued  to  hurry  over  the  paper. 

"Who  told  you  you  were  arrested?"  he  remarked, 
cheerfully,  in  his  blandest  voice. 

Garson  uttered  an  ejaculation  of  disgust. 

"I  don't  have  to  be  told,"  he  retorted,  huffily.  "I'm 
no  college  president,  but,  when  a  cop  grabs  me  and 
brings  me  down  here,  IVe  got  sense  enough  to  know 
I'm  pinched." 

The  Inspector  did  not  interrupt  his  work,  but  an 
swered  with  the  utmost  good  nature. 

"Is  that  what  they  did  to  you,  Joe?  I'll  have  to 
speak  to  Cassidy  about  that.  Now,  just  you  sit  down, 
Joe,  won't  you  ?  I  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you. 
I'll  be  through  here  in  a  second."  He  went  on  with  the 
writing. 

Garson  moved  forward  slightly,  to  the  single  chair 
near  the  end  of  the  desk,  and  there  seated  himself  me 
chanically.  His  face  thus  was  turned  toward  the  win 
dows  that  gave  on  the  corridor,  and  his  eyes  grew  yet 
more  clouded  as  they  rested  on  the  grim  doors  of  the 
cells.  He  writhed  in  his  chair,  and  his  gaze  jumped 
from  the  cells  to  the  impassive  figure  of  the  man  at  the 
desk.  Now,  the  forger's  nervousness  increased  mo 
mently — it  swept  beyond  his  control.  Of  a  sudden,  he 
sprang  up,  and  stepped  close  to  the  Inspector. 


THE  CONFESSION  323 

"Say,"  he  said,  in  a  husky  voice,  "I'd  like— I'd  like 
to  have  a  lawyer." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Joe?"  the  Inspector  re 
turned,  always  with  that  imperturbable  air,  and  without 
raising  his  head  from  the  work  that  so  engrossed  his  at 
tention.  "You  know,  you're  not  arrested,  Joe.  Maybe, 
you  never  will  be.  Now,  for  the  love  of  Mike,  keep 
still,  and  let  me  finish  this  letter." 

Slowly,  very  hesitatingly,  Garson  went  back  to  the 
chair,  and  sank  down  on  it  in  a  limp  attitude  of  dejec 
tion  wholly  unlike  his  customary  postures  of  strength. 
Again,  his  fear-fascinated  eyes  went  to  the  row  of  cells 
that  stood  silently  menacing  on  the  other  side  of  the  cor 
ridor  beyond  the  windows.  His  face  was  tinged  with 
gray.  A  physical  sickness  was  creeping  stealthily  on 
him,  as  his  thoughts  held  insistently  to  the  catastrophe 
that  threatened.  His  intelligence  was  too  keen  to  per 
mit  a  belief  that  Burke's  manner  of  almost  fulsome 
kindliness  hid  nothing  ominous — ominous  with  a  hint 
of  death  for  him  in  return  for  the  death  he  had  wrought. 

Then,  terror  crystallized.  His  eyes  were  caught  by 
a  figure,  the  figure  of  Cassidy,  advancing  therejnjhe 

: 


324  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

There  was  something  concretely  sinister  to  Garson  in 
this  fact  of  Dacey's  presence  there  in  the  cell. 

Of  a  sudden,  the  forger  cried  out  raucously: 

"Say,  Inspector,  if  you've  got  anything  on  me,  I — I 
W0uld "  The  cry  dropped  into  unintelligible  mum 
blings. 

Burke  retained  his  manner  of  serene  indifference  to 
the  other's  agitation.  Still,  his  pen  hurried  over  the 
paper ;  and  he  did  not  trouble  to  look  up  as  he  expos 
tulated,  half-banteringly. 

"Now,  now!  What's  the  matter  with  you,  Joe?  I 
told  you  that  I  wanted  to  ask  you  a  few  questions. 
That's  all." 

Garson  leaped  to  his  feet  again  resolutely,  then  fal 
tered,  and  ultimately  fell  back  into  the  chair  with  a 
groan,  as  the  Inspector  went  on  speaking. 

"Now,  Joe,  sit  down,  and  keep  still,  I  tell  you,  and  let 
me  get  through  with  this  job.  It  won't  take  me  more 
than  a  minute  more. 

But,  after  a  moment,  Garson's  emotion  forced  him! 
to  another  appeal. 

"Say,  Inspector "  he  began. 

Then,  abruptly,  he  was  silent,  his  mouth  still  open  to 
utter  the  words  that  were  now  held  back  by  horror. 
Again,  he  saw  the  detective  walking  forward,  out  there 
in  the  corridor.  And  with  him,  as  before,  was  a  second 
figure,  which  advanced  slinkingly.  Garson  leaned  for- 
>ward  in  his  chair,  his  head  thrust  out,  watching  in  rigid 
suspense.  Again,  even  as  before,  the  door  swung  wide,' 


THE  CONFESSION  325 

the  prisoner  slipped  within,  the  door  clanged  shut,  the 
bolts  clattered  noisily  into  their  sockets. 

And,  in  the  watcher,  terror  grew — for  he  had  seen 
the  face  of  Chicago  Red,  another  of  his  pals,  another 
who  had  seen  him  kill  Griggs.  For  a  time  that  seemed 
to  him  long  ages  of  misery,  Garson  sat  staring  dazedly 
at  the  closed  doors  of  the  tier  of  cells.  The  peril  about 
him  was  growing — growing,  and  it  was  a  deadly  peril  1 
'At  last,  he  licked  his  dry  lips,  and  his  voice  broke  in  a 
throaty  whisper. 

"Say,  Inspector,  if  you've  got  anything  against  me, 
Why " 

"Who  said  there  was  anything  against  you,  Joe?" 
Burke  rejoined,  in  a  voice  that  was  genially  chiding, 
"What's  the  matter  with  you  to-day,  Joe?  You  seem 
nervous."  Still,  the  official  kept  on  with  his  writing. 

"No,  I  ain't  nervous,"  Garson  cried,  with  a  feverisK 
effort  to  appear  calm.  "Why,  what  makes  you  think 
that?  But  this  ain't  exactly  the  place  you'd  pick  out  as 
a  pleasant  one  to  spend  the  morning."  He  was  silent 
for  a  little,  trying  with  all  his  strength  to  regain  his 
self-control,  but  with  small  success. 

"Could  I  ask  you  a  question?"  he  demanded  finally, 
with  more  firmness  in  his  voice. 

"What  is  it?"  Burke  said. 

Garson  cleared  his  throat  with  difficulty,  and  his  voice 
was  thick. 

"I  was  just  going  to  say — "  he  began.  Then,  he  hes 
itated,  and  was  silent,  at  a  loss. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  Joe?"  the  Inspector  prompted. 


326  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"I  was  going  to  say — that  is — well,  if  it's  anything 
about  Mary  Turner,  I  don't  know  a  thing — not  a 
thing!" 

It  was  the  thought  of  possible  peril  to  her  that  now, 
in  an  instant,  had  caused  him  to  forget  his  own  mortal 
danger.  Where,  before,  he  had  been  shuddering  over 
thoughts  of  the  death-house  cell  that  might  be  awaiting 
him,  he  now  had  concern  only  for  the  safety  of  the 
woman  he  cherished.  And  there  was  a  great  grief  in 
his  soul ;  for  it  was  borne  in  on  him  that  his  own  folly, 
in  disobedience  to  her  command,  had  led  up  to  the  mur 
der  of  Griggs — and  to  all  that  might  come  of  the  crime. 
How  could  he  ever  make  amends  to  her?  At  least, 
he  could  be  brave  here,  for  her  sake,  if  not  for  his  own. 

Burke  believed  that  his  opportunity  was  come. 

"What  made  you  think  I  wanted  to  know  anything 
about  her?"  he  questioned. 

"Oh,  I  can't  exactly  say,"  Garson  replied  carelessly, 
in  an  attempt  to  dissimulate  his  agitation.  "You  were  up 
to  the  house,  you  know.  Don't  you  see?" 

"I  did  want  to  see  her,  that's  a  fact,"  Burke  ad 
mitted.  He  kept  on  with  his  writing,  his  head  bent  low. 
"But  she  wasn't  at  her  flat.  I  guess  she  must  have  taken 
my  advice,  and  skipped  out.  Clever  girl,  that!" 

Garson  contrived  to  present  an  aspect  of -comparative 
indifference. 

"Yes,"  he  agreed.  "I  was  thinking  of  going  West, 
myself,"  he  ventured. 

"Oh,  were  you?"  Burke  exclaimed;  and,  now,  there 
svas  a  new  note  in  his  voice.  His  hand  slipped  into  the 


THE  CONFESSION  327 

pocket  where  was  the  pistol,  and  clutched  it.    He  stared 
at  Garson  fiercely,  and  spoke  with  a  rush  of  the  words : 

"Why  did  you  kill  Eddie  Griggs?" 

"I  didn't  kill  him !"  The  reply  was  quick  enough,  but 
it  came  weakly.  Again,  Garson  was  forced  to  wet  his 
lips  with  a  dry  tongue,  and  to  swallow  painfully.  "I  tell 
you,  I  didn't  kill  him!"  he  repeated  at  last,  with  more 
force. 

Burke  sneered  his  disbelief. 

"You  killed  him  last  night — with  this  I"  he  cried,  vi 
ciously.  On  the  instant,  the  pistol  leaped  into  view, 
pointed  straight  at  Garson.  "Why?"  the  Inspector 
shouted.  "Come  on,  now!  Why?" 

"I  didn't,  I  tell  you  !"  Garson  was  growing  stronger, 
since  at  last  the  crisis  was  upon  him.  He  got  to  his  feet 
with  lithe  swiftness  of  movement,  and  sprang  close  to 
the  desk.  He  bent  his  head  forward  challengingly,  to 
meet  the  glare  of  his  accuser's  eyes.  There  was  no 
flinching  in  his  own  steely  stare.  His  nerves  had  ceased 
their  jangling  under  the  tautening  of  necessity. 

"You  did !"  Burke  vociferated.  He  put  his  whole  will 
into  the  assertion  of  guilt,  to  batter  down  the  man's  re 
sistance.  "You  did,  I  tell  you !  You  did !" 

Garson  leaned  still  further  forward,  until  his  face  was  j 
almost  level  with  the  Inspector's.     His  eyes  were  un 
clouded  now,  were  blazing.    His  voice  came  resonant  in 
its  denial.    The  entire  pose  of  him  was  intrepid,  daunt 
less. 

"And  I  tell  you,  I  didn't!" 

There  passed  many  seconds,  while  the  two  men  bat- 


328  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

tied  in  silence,  will  warring  against  will.  .  r.,  ,.  In  the 
end,  it  was  the  murderer  who  triumphed. 

Suddenly,  Burke  dropped  the  pistol  into  his  pocket, 
and  lolled  back  in  his  chair.  His  gaze  fell  away  from: 
the  man  confronting  him.  In  the  same  instant,  the  rigid 
ity  of  Garson's  form  relaxed,  and  he  straightened  slow 
ly.  A  tide  of  secret  joy  swept  through  him,  as  he  real 
ized  his  victory.  But  his  outward  expression  remained 
unchanged. 

"Oh,  well,"  Burke  exclaimed  amiably,  "I  didn't  really 
think  you  did,  but  I  wasn't  sure,  so  I  had  to  take  a 
chance.  You  understand,  don't  you,  Joe?" 

"Sure,  I  understand,"  Garson  replied,  with  an  amia 
bility  equal  to  the  Inspector's  own. 

Burke's  manner  continued  very  amicable  as  he  went 
on  speaking. 

"You  see,  Joe,  anyhow,  weVe  got  the  right  party  safe 
enough.  You  can  bet  on  that!" 

Garson  resisted  the  lure. 

"If  you  don't  want  me "  he  began  suggestively; 

and  he  turned  toward  the  door  to  the  outer  hall.  "Why, 
if  you  don't  want  me,  I'll — get  along." 

"Oh,  what's  the  hurry,  Joe?"  Burke  retorted,  with  the 
effect  of  stopping  the  other  short.  He  pressed  the  buz 
zer  as  the  agreed  signal  to  Cassidy.  "Where  did  you 
say  Mary  Turner  was  last  night?" 

At  the  question,  all  Garson's  fears  for  the  woman 
rushed  back  on  him  with  appalling  force.  Of  what  avail 
his  safety,  if  she  were  still  in  peril? 

"I  don't  know  where  she  was,"  he  exclaimed,  doubt- 


THE  CONFESSION  329 

fully.  He  realized  his  blunder  even  as  the  words  left 
his  lips,  and  sought  to  correct  it  as  best  he  might.  "Why, 
yes,  I  do,  too,"  he  went  on,  as  if  assailed  by  sudden 
memory.  "I  dropped  into  her  place  kind  of  late,  and 
they  said  she'd  gone  to  bed — headache,  I  guess.  .  .  . 
Yes,  she  was  home,  of  course.  She  didn't  go  out  of  the 
house,  all  night."  His  insistence  on  the  point  was  of 
itself  suspicious,  but  eagerness  to  protect  her  stultified 
his  wits. 

Burke  sat  grim  and  silent,  offering  no  comment  on 
the  lie. 

"Know  anything  about  young  Gilder?"  he  demanded. 
"Happen  to  know  where  he  is  now?"  He  arose  and 
came  around  the  desk,  so  that  he  stood  close  to  Garson, 
at  whom  he  glowered. 

"Not  a  thing!"  was  the  earnest  answer.  But  the 
speaker's  fear  rose  swiftly,  for  the  linking  of  these 
names  was  significant — frightfully  significant! 

The  inner  door  opened,  and  Mary  Turner  entered 
the  office.  Garson  with  difficulty  suppressed  the  cry  of 
distress  that  rose  to  his  lips.  For  a  few  moments,  the 
silence  was  unbroken.  Then,  presently,  Burke,  by  a  ges 
ture,  directed  the  girl  to  advance  toward  the  center  of 
the  room.  As  she  obeyed,  he  himself  went  a  little  to 
ward  the  door,  and,  when  it  opened  again,  and  Dick 
Gilder  appeared,  he  interposed  to  check  the  young  man's 
rush  forward  as  his  gaze  fell  on  his  bride,  who  stood 
regarding  him  with  sad  eyes. 

Garson  stared  mutely  at  the  burly  man  in  uniform 
who  held  their  destinies  in  the  hollow  of  a  hand.  His 


330  WITHIN  THE  LAW. 

lips  parted  as  if  he  were  about  to  speak.  Then,  he  bade 
defiance  to  the  impulse.  He  deemed  it  safer  for  all 
that  he  should  say  nothing — now !  .  .  .  And  it  is  very 
easy  to  say  a  word  too  many.  And  that  one  may  be  a 
word  never  to  be  unsaid — or  gainsaid. 

Then,  while  still  that  curious,  dynamic  silence  en 
dured,  Cassidy  came  briskly  into  the  office.  By  some 
magic  of  duty,  he  had  contrived  to  give  his  usually  hebe- 
tudinous  features  an  expression  of  enthusiasm. 

"Say,  Chief, "  the  detective  said  rapidly", "they Ve 
squealed  1" 

Burke  regarded  his  aide  with  an  air  intolerably  tri 
umphant.  His  voice  came  smug: 

"Squealed,  eh?"  His  glance  ran  over  Garson  for  a 
second,  then  made  its  inquisition  of  Mary  and  of  Dick 
Gilder.  He  did  not  give  a  look  to  Cassidy  as  he  put 
his  question.  "Do  they  tell  the  same  story  ?"  And  then, 
when  the  detective  had  answered  in  the  affirmative,  he 
went  on  speaking  in  tones  ponderous  with  self-com 
placency;  and,  now,  his  eyes  held  sharply,  craftily,  on 
the  woman. 

"I  was  right  then,  after  all — right,  all  the  time! 
Good  enough!"  Of  a  sudden,  his  voice  boomed  som 
berly.  "Mary  Turner,  I  want  you  for  the  murder 
of " 

Garson's  rush  halted  the  sentence.  He  had  leaped 
forward.  His  face  was  rigid.  He  broke  on  the  In 
spector's  words  with  a  gesture  of  fury.  His  voice  came 
in  a  hiss: 

"That's  a  damned  lie!.      .  I  did  it!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ANGUISH  AND  BLISS, 

Joe  Garson  had  shouted  his  confession  without  a  sec 
ond  of  reflection.  But  the  result  must  have  been  the 
same  had  he  taken  years  of  thought.  Between  him  and 
her  as  the  victim  of  the  law,  there  could  be  no  hesita 
tion  for  choice.  Indeed,  just  now,  he  had  no  heed  to 
his  own  fate.  The  prime  necessity  was  to  save  her, 
Mary,  from  the  toils  of  the  law  that  were  closing  around 
her.  For  himself,  in  the  days  to  come,  there  would  be 
a  ghastly  dread,  but  there  would  never  be  regret  over 
the  cost  of  saving  her.  Perhaps,  some  other  he  might 
have  let  suffer  in  his  stead — not  her!  Even,  had  he 
been  innocent,  and  she  guilty  of  the  crime,  he  would  still 
have  taken  the  burden  of  it  on  his  own  shoulders.  He 
had  saved  her  from  the  waters — he  would  save  her 
until  the  end,  as  far  as  the  power  in  him  might  lie.  It 
was  thus  that,  with  the  primitive  directness  of  his  rev 
erential  love  for  the  girl,  he  counted  no  sacrifice  too 
great  in  her  behalf.  Joe  Garson  was  not  a  good  man, 
at  the  world  esteems  goodness.  On  the  contrary,  he  was 
distinctly  an  evil  one,  a  menace  to  the  society  on  which 
he  preyed  constantly.  But  his  good  qualities,  if  few, 
were  of  the  strongest  fiber,  rooted  in  the  deeps  of  him. 
He  loathed  treachery.  His  one  guiltiness  in  this  respect 

33* 


332  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

had  been,  curiously  enough,  toward  Mary  herself,  in  the 
scheme  of  the  burglary,  which  she  had  forbidden.  But, 
in  the  last  analysis,  here  his  deceit  had  been  designed 
to  bring  affluence  to  her.  It  was  his  abhorrence  of 
treachery  among  pals  that  had  driven  him  to  the  mur 
der  of  the  stool-pigeon  in  a  fit  of  ungovernable  passion. 
He  might  have  stayed  his  hand  then,  but  for  the  gusty 
rage  that  swept  him  on  to  the  crime.  None  the  less,  had 
he  spared  the  man,  his  hatred  of  the  betrayer  would 
have  been  the  same.  ...  And  the  other  virtue  of  Joe 
Garson  was  the  complement  of  this — his  own  loyalty, 
a  loyalty  that  made  him  forget  self  utterly  where  he 
loved.  The  one  woman  who  had  ever  filled  his  heart 
was  Mary,  and  for  her  his  life  were  not  too  much  to 
give. 

The  suddenness  of  it  all  held  Mary  voiceless  for  long 
seconds.     She  was  frozen  with  horror  of  the  event. 
iWhen,  at  last,  words  came,  they  were  a  frantic  prayer 
of  protest. 

"No,  Joe!    No!    Don't  talk— don't  talk! " 

Burke,  immensely  gratified,  went  nimbly  to  his  chair, 
and  thence  surveyed  the  agitated  group  with  grisly 
pleasure. 

"Joe  has  talked,"  he  said,  significantly. 

Mary,  shaken  as  she  was  by  the  fact  of  Carson's  con 
fession,  nevertheless  retained  her  presence  of  mind  suf 
ficiently  to  resist  with  all  her  strength. 

"He  did  it  to  protect  me,"  she  stated,  earnestly. 

The  Inspector  disdained  such  futile  argument.     As 


ANGUISH  AND  BLISS  333 

the  doorman  appeared  in  answer  to  the  buzzer,  he  di 
rected  that  the  stenographer  be  summoned  at  once. 

"We'll  have  the  confession  in  due  form,"  he  re 
marked,  gazing  pleasedly  on  the  three  before  him. 

"He's  not  going  to  confess,"  Mary  insisted,  with 
spirit. 

But  Burke  was  not  in  the  least  impressed.  He  dis 
regarded  her  completely,  and  spoke  mechanically  to 
Garson  the  formal  warning  required  by  the  law. 

"You  are  hereby  cautioned  that  anything  you  say  may 
be  used  against  you."  Then,  as  the  stenographer  en 
tered,  he  went  on  with  lively  interest.  "Now,  Joe !" 

Yet  once  again,  Mary  protested,  a  little  wildly. 

"Don't  speak,  Joe !  Don't  say  a  word  till  we  can  get 
a  lawyer  for  you  !" 

The  man  met  her  pleading  eyes  steadily,  and  shook 
his  head  in  refusal. 

"It's  no  use,  my  girl,"  Burke  broke  in,  harshly.  "I 
told  you  I'd  get  you.  I'm  going  to  try  you  and  Gar- 
son,  and  the  whole  gang  for  murder — yes,  every  one 
of  you.  .  .  .  And  you,  Gilder,"  he  continued,  lowering 
on  the  young  man  who  had  defied  him  so  obstinately, 
"you'll  go  to  the  House  of  Detention  as  a  material  wit 
ness."  He  turned  his  gaze  to  Garson  again,  and  spoke 
authoritatively:  "Come  on  now,  Joe!" 

Garson  went  a  step  toward  the  desk,  and  spoke  de 
cisively. 

"If  I  come  through,  you'll  let  her  go — and  him?"  he 
added  as  an  afterthought,  with  a  nod  toward  Dick 
Gilder. 


334  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

"Oh,  Joe,  don't  I"  Mary  cried,  bitterly.  "We'll  sperfd 
every  dollar  we  can  raise  to  save  you !" 

"Now,  it's  no  use,"  the  Inspector  complained.  "You're 
only  wasting  time.  He's  said  that  he  did  it.  That's  all 
there  is  to  it.  Now  that  we're  sure  he's  our  man,  he 
hasn't  got  a  chance  in  the  world." 

"Well,  how  about  it?"  Garson  demanded,  savagely. 
"Do  they  go  clear,  if  I  come  through?" 

"We'll  get  the  best  lawyers  in  the  country,"  Mary 
persisted,  desperately.  "We'll  save  you,  Joe — we'll 
save  you!" 

Garson  regarded  the  distraught  girl  with  wistful  eyes. 
But  there  was  no  trace  of  yielding  in  his  voice  as  he 
replied,  though  he  spoke  very  sorrowfully. 

"No,  you  can't  help  me,"  he  said,  simply.  "My  time 
has  come,  Mary.  ,..t  L..  ...  And  I  can  save  you  a  lot  of 
trouble." 

"He's  right  there,"  Burke  ejaculated.  "We've  got 
him  cold.  So,  what's  the  use  of  dragging  you  two  into 
it?" 

"Then,  they  go  clear?"  Garson  exclaimed,  eagerly. 
"They  ain't  even  to  be  called  as  witnesses?" 

Burke  nodded  assent. 

"You're  on!"  he  agreed. 

"Then,  here  goes!"  Garson  cried;  and  he  looked  ex 
pectantly  toward  the  stenographer. 

The  strain  of  it  all  was  sapping  the  will  of  the  girl, 
who  saw  the  man  she  so  greatly  esteemed  for  his  service 
to  her  "and  his  devotion  about  to  condemn  himself  to 


ANGUISH  AND  BLISS  335 

death.  She  grew  half-hysterical.  Her  words  came  con 
fusedly: 

"No,  Joe!    No,  no,  no  I" 

Again,  Garson  shook  his  head  in  absolute  refusal 
of  her  plea. 

"There's  no  other  way  out,"  he  declared,  wearily. 
"I'm  going  through  with  it."  He  straightened  a  little, 
and  again  looked  at  the  stenographer.  His  voice  came 
quietly,  without  any  tremulousnesss. 

"My  name  is  Joe  Garson." 

"Alias?' '  Burke  suggested. 

"Alias  nothing !"  came  the  sharp  retort.  "Garson's 
my  monaker.  I  shot  English  Eddie,  because  he  was  a 
skunk,  and  a  stool-pigeon,  and  he  got  just  what  was 
coming  to  him."  Vituperation  beyond  the  mere  words 
beat  in  his  voice  now. 

Burke  twisted  uneasily  in  his  chair. 

"Now,  now!"  he  objected,  severely.  "We  can't  take 
a  confession  like  that." 

Garson  shook  his  head — spoke  with  fiercer  hatred. 

" because  he  was  a   skunk,  and  a  stool-pigeon," 

he  repeated.  "Have  you  got  it?"  And  then,  as 
the  stenographer  nodded  assent,  he  went  on,  less  vio 
lently:  "I  croaked  him  just  as  he  was  going  to  call  the 
bulls  with  a  police-whistle.  I  used  a  gun  with  smoke 
less  powder.  It  had  a  Maxim  silencer  on  it,  so  that  it 
didn't  make  any  noise." 

Garson  paused,  and  the  set  despair  of  his  features 
lightened  a  little.  Into  his  voice  came  a  tone  of  ex 
ultation  indescribably  ghastly.  It  was  born  of  the  eterna) 


336  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

egotism  of  the  criminal,  fattening  vanity  in  gloating 
over  his  ingenuity  for  evil.  Garson,  despite  his  two 
great  virtues,  had  the  vices  of  his  class.  Now,  he  stared 
at  Burke  with  a  quizzical  grin  crooking  his  lips. 

"Say,"  he  exclaimed,  "I'll  bet  it's  the  first  time  a  guy 
was  e^er  croaked  with  one  of  them  things!  Ain't  it?"  ' 

The  Inspector  nodded  affirmation.  There  was  sincere 
admiration  in  his  expression,  for  he  was  ready  at  all 
times  to  respect  the  personal  abilities  of  the  criminals 
against  whom  he  waged  relentless  war. 

"That's  right,  Joe !"  he  said,  with  perceptible  enthusi 
asm. 

"Some  class  to  that,  eh?"  Garson  demanded,  still  witK 
that  gruesome  air  of  boasting.  "I  got  the  gun,  and  the 
Maxim-silencer  thing,  off  a  fence  in  Boston,"  he  ex 
plained.  "Say,  that  thing  cost  me  sixty  dollars,  and  it's 
worth  every  cent  of  the  money.  .  .  .  Why,  they'll 
remember  me  as  the  first  to  spring  one  of  them  things, 
won't  they?" 

"They  sure  will,  Joe !"  the  Inspector  conceded. 

"Nobody  knew  I  had  it,"  Garson  continued,  dropping 
his  braggart  manner  abruptly. 

At  the  words,  Mary  started,  and  her  lips  moved  as  if 
she  were  about  to  speak. 

Garson,  intent  on  her  always,  though  he  seemed  to 
look  only  at  Burke,  observed  the  effect  on  her,  and  re 
peated  his  words  swiftly,  with  a  warning  emphasis  that 
gave  the  girl  pause. 

"Nobody  knew  I  had  it — nobody  in  the  world!"  he 


ANGUISH  AND  BLISS  337 

declared.  "And  nobody  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
killing  but  me." 

Burke  put  a  question  that  was  troubling  him  much, 
concerning  the  motive  that  lay  behind  the  shooting  of 
Griggs. 

"Was  there  any  bad  feeling  between  you  and  Eddie 
Griggs?" 

Garson's  reply  was  explicit. 

"Never  till  that  very  minute.  Then,  I  learned  the 
truth  about  what  he'd  framed  up  with  you."  The  speak 
er's  voice  reverted  to  its  former  fierceness  in  recollection, 
of  the  treachery  of  one  whom  he  had  trusted. 

"He  was  a  stool-pigeon,  and  I  hated  his  guts!  That's 
all,"  he  concluded,  with  brutal  candor. 

The  Inspector  moved  restlessly  in  his  chair.  He  had 
only  detestation  for  the  slain  man,  yet  there  was  some 
thing  morbidly  distasteful  in  the  thought  that  he  him 
self  had  contrived  the  situation  which  had  resulted  in 
the  murder  of  his  confederate.  It  was  only  by  an  effort 
that  he  shook  off  the  vague  feeling  of  guilt. 

"Nothing  else  to  say?"  he  inquired. 

Garson  reflected  for  a  few  seconds,  then  made  a  ges 
ture  of  negation. 

"Nothing  else,"  he  declared.  "I  croaked  him,  and 
I'm  glad  I  done  it.  He  was  a  skunk.  That's  all,  and 
it's  enough.  And  it's  all  true,  so  help  me  God!" 

The  Inspector  nodded  dismissal  to  the  stenographer, 
with  an  air  of  relief. 

"That's  all,  Williams,"  he  said,  heavily.  "He'll  sign 
it  as  soon  as  you've  transcribed  the  notes." 


338  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Then,  as  the  stenographer  left  the  room,  Burke 
turned  his  gaze  on  the  woman,  who  stood  there  in  a 
posture  of  complete  dejection,  her  white,  anguished  face 
downcast.  There  was  triumph  in  the  Inspector's  voice 
as  he  addressed  her,  for  his  professional  pride  was  full- 
fed  by  this  victory  over  his  foes.  But  there  was,  too, 
an  undertone  of  a  feeling  softer  than  pride,  more  gen 
erous,  something  akin  to  real  commiseration  for  this 
unhappy  girl  who  drooped  before  him,  suffering  so  poig 
nantly  in  the  knowledge  of  the  fate  that  awaited  the  man 
who  had  saved  her,  who  had  loved  her  so  unselfishly. 

"Young  woman,"  Burke  said  briskly,  "it's  just  like  I 
told  you.  You  can't  beat  the  law.  Garson  thought  he 

could — and  now !"    He  broke  off,  with  a  wave  of 

his  hand  toward  the  man  who  had  just  sentenced  him 
self  to  death  in  the  electric-chair. 

"That's  right,"  Garson  agreed,  with  somber  in 
tensity.  His  eyes  were  grown  clouded  again  now,  and 
his  voice  dragged  leaden.  "That's  right,  Mary,"  he 
repeated  dully,  after  a  little  pause.  "You  can't  beat  the 
law!" 

There  followed  a  period  of  silence,  in  which  great 
emotions  were  vibrant  from  heart  to  heart.  Garson  was 
thinking  of  Mary,  and,  with  the  thought,  into  his  misery 
crept  a  little  comfort.  At  least,  she  would  go  free.  That 
had  been  in  the  bargain  with  Burke.  And  there  was  the 
boy,  too.  His  eyes  shot  a  single  swift  glance  toward 
Dick  Gilder,  and  his  satisfaction  increased  as  he  noted 
the  alert  poise  of  the  young  man's  body,  the  strained 
expression  of  the  strong  face,  the  gaze  of  absorbed 


ANGUISH  AND  BLISS  339 

yearning  with  which  he  regarded  Mary.  There  could 
be  no  doubt  concerning  the  depth  of  the  lad's  love  for 
the  girl.  Moreover,  there  were  manly  qualities  in  him 
to  work  out  all  things  needful  for  her  protection  through 
life.  Already,  he  had  proved  his  devotion,  and  that 
abundantly,  his  unswerving  fidelity  to  her,  and  the  force 
within  him  that  made  these  worthy  in  some  measure 
of  her. 

Garson  felt  no  least  pang  of  jealousy.  Though  he 
loved  the  woman  with  the  single  love  of  his  life,  he  had 
never,  somehow,  hoped  aught  for  hirnself.  There  was 
even  something  almost  of  the  paternal  in  the  purity  of 
his  love,  as  if,  indeed,  by  the  fact  of  restoring  her  to 
life  he  had  taken  on  himself  the  responsibility  of  a 
parent.  He  knew  that  the  boy  worshiped  her,  would 
do  his  best  for  her,  that  this  best  would  suffice  for  her 
happiness  in  time.  Garson,  with  the  instinct  of  love, 
guessed  that  Mary  had  in  truth  given  her  heart  all  un 
aware  to  the  husband  whom  she  had  first  lured  only 
for  the  lust  of  revenge.  Garson  nodded  his  head  in  a 
melancholy  satisfaction.  His  life  was  done:  hers  was 
just  beginning,  now.  .  .  .  But  she  would  remember  him 
— oh,  yes,  always !  Mary  was  loyal. 

The  man  checked  the  trend  of  his  thoughts  by  a 
mighty  effort  of  will.  He  must  not  grow  maudlin  here. 
He  spoke  again  to  Mary,  with  a  certain  dignity. 

"No,  you  can't  beat  the  law!"  He  hesitated  a  little, 
then  went  on,  with  a  certain  curious  embarrassment. 
"And  this  same  old  law  says  a  woman  must  stick  to 
her  man." 


340  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

The  girl's  eyes  met  his  with  passionate  sorrow  in 
their  misty  deeps.  Garson  gave  a  significant  glance  to 
ward  Dick  Gilder,  then  his  gaze  returned  to  her.  There 
was  a  smoldering  despair  in  that  look.  There  were, 
as  well,  an  entreaty  and  a  command. 

"So,"  he  went  on,  "you  must  go  along  with  him, 
Mary.  .  .  .  Won't  you?  It's  the  best  thing  to  do." 

The  girl  could  not  answer.  There  was  a  clutch  on 
her  throat  just  then,  which  would  not  relax  at  the  call 
of  her  will. 

The  tension  of  a  moment  grew,  became  pervasive. 
Burke,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  scenes  of  dramatic  vio 
lence,  now  experienced  an  altogether  unfamiliar  thrill. 
As  for  Garson,  once  again  the  surge  of  feeling  threat 
ened  to  overwhelm  his  self-control.  He  must  not  break 
down !  For  Mary's  sake,  he  must  show  himself  stoical, 
quite  undisturbed  in  this  supreme  hour. 

Of  a  sudden,  an  inspiration  came  to  him,  a  means  to 
snap  the  tension,  to  create  a  diversion  wholly  efficacious. 
He  would  turn  to  his  boasting  again,  would  call  upon 
his  vanity,  which  he  knew  well  as  his  chief  foible, 
and  make  it  serve  as  the  foil  against  his  love.  He  strove 
manfully  to  throw  off  the  softer  mood.  In  a  meas 
ure,  at  least,  he  won  the  fight — though  always,  under  the 
rush  of  this  vaunting,  there  throbbed  the  anguish  of  his 
heart. 

"You  want  to  cut  out  worrying  about  me,"  he  coun 
seled,  bravely.  "Why,  I  ain't  worrying  any,  myself — . 
not  a  little  bit !  You  see,  it's  something  new  I've  pulled 
off.  Nobody  ever  put  over  anything  like  it  before." 


"THAT'S  ALL  RIGHT",  HE  MURMURED,  HUSKILY.     "THAT'S  ALL  RIGHT,  MARY. 
YOU  KNOW  HE'LL  LOOK  AFTER  YOU  .  .  .  YES,  HE'LL  LOCK  AFTER  YOU." 


ANGUISH  AND  BLISS  341 

He  faced  Burke  with  a  grin  of  gloating  again. 

"I'll  bet  there'll  be  a  lot  of  stuff  in  the  newspapers 
about  this,  and  my  picture,  too,  in  most  of  'em !  What?" 

The  man's  manner  imposed  on  Burke,  though  Mary 
felt  the  torment  that  his  vainglorying  was  meant  to 
mask. 

"Say,"  Garson  continued  to  the  Inspector,  "if  the  re 
porters  want  any  pictures  of  me,  could  I  have  some  new 
ones  taken?  The  one  you've  got  of  me  in  the  Gallery 
is  over  ten  years  old.  I've  taken  off  my  beard  since 
then.  Can  I  have  a  new  one?"  He  put  the  question 
with  an  eagerness  that  seemed  all  sincere. 

Burke  answered  with  a  fine  feeling  of  generosity. 

"Sure,  you  can,  Joe !  I'll  send  you  up  to  the  Gallery 
right  now." 

"Immense!"  Garson  cried,  boisterously.  He  moved 
toward  Dick  Gilder,  walking  with  a  faint  suggestion  of 
swagger  to  cover  the  nervous  tremor  that  had  seized 
him. 

"So  long,  young  fellow!"  he  exclaimed,  and  held  out 
his  hand.  "You've  been  on  the  square,  and  I  guess  you 
always  will  be." 

Dick  had  no  scruple  in  clasping  that  extended  hand 
very  warmly  in  his  own.  He  had  no  feeling  of  repul 
sion  against  this  man  who  had  committed  a  murder  in 
his  presence.  Though  he  did  not  quite  understand  the 
other's  heart,  his  instinct  as  a  lover  taught  him  much,  so 
that  he  pitied  profoundly — and  respected,  too. 

"We'll  do  what  we  can  for  you,"  he  said,  simply. 

"That's  all  right,"  Garson  replied,  with  such  careless- 


342  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

ness  of  manner  as  he  could  contrive.  Then,  at  last,  he 
turned  to  Mary.  This  parting  must  be  bitter,  and  he 
braced  himself  with  all  the  vigors  of  his  will  to  combat 
the  weakness  that  leaped  from  his  soul. 

As  he  came  near,  the  girl  could  hold  herself  in  leash 
no  longer.  She  threw  herself  on  his  breast.  Her  arms 
wreathed  about  his  neck.  Great  sobs  racked  her. 

"Oh,  Joe,  Joel"  The  gasping  cry  was  of  utter  de 
spair. 

Carson's  trembling  hand  patted  the  girl's  shoulder 
very  softly,  a  caress  of  infinite  tenderness. 

"That's  all  right!"  he  murmured,  huskily.  "That's 
all  right,  Mary!"  There  was  a  short  silence;  and  then 
he  went  on  speaking,  more  firmly.  "You  know,  he'll 
look  after  you." 

He  would  have  said  more,  but  he  could  not.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  the  sobs  of  the  girl  caught  in  his  own  throat. 
Yet,  presently,  he  strove  once  again,  with  every  reserve 
of  his  strength;  and,  finally,  he  so  far  mastered  himself 
that  he  could  speak  calmly.  The  words  were  uttered 
with  a  subtle  renunciation  that  was  this  man's  religion. 

"Yes,  he'll  take  care  of  you.  Why,  I'd  like  to  see  the 
two  of  you  with  about  three  kiddies  playing  round  the 
house." 

He  looked  up  over  the  girl's  shoulder,  and  beckoned 
with  his  head  to  Dick,  who  came  forward  at  the  sum 
mons. 

"Take  good  care  of  her,  won't  you?" 

He  disengaged  himself  gently  from  the  girl's  em 
brace,  and  set  her  within  the  arms  of  her  husband,  where 


ANGUISH  AND  BLISS  343 

she  rested  quietly,  as  if  unable  to  fight  longer  against 
fate's  decree. 

"Well,  so  long!" 

He  dared  not  utter  another  word,  but  turned  blindly, 
and  went,  stumbling  a  little,  toward  the  doorman,  who 
had  appeared  in  answer  to  the  Inspector's  call. 

"To  the  Gallery,"  Burke  ordered,  curtly. 

Garson  went  on  without  ever  a  glance  back.  ,.,  ,.  ., 
His  strength  was  at  an  end. 

***** 

There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  room  after  Carson's 
passing.  It  was  broken,  at  last,  by  the  Inspector,  who 
got  up  from  his  chair,  and  advanced  toward  the  husband 
and  wife.  In  his  hand,  he  carried  a  sheet  of  paper, 
roughly  scrawled.  As  he  stopped  before  the  two,  and 
cleared  his  throat,  Mary  withdrew  herself  from  Dick's 
arms,  and  regarded  the  official  with  brooding  eyes  from 
out  her  white  face.  Something  strange  in  her  enemy's 
expression  caught  her  attention,  something  that  set  new 
hopes  alive  within  her  in  a  fashion  wholly  inexplicable, 
so  that  she  waited  with  a  sudden,  breathless  eagerness. 

Burke  extended  the  sheet  of  paper  to  the  husband. 

"There's  a  document,"  he  said  gruffly.  "It's  a  letter 
from  one  Helen  Morris,  in  which  she  sets  forth  the 
interesting  fact  that  she  pulled  off  a  theft  in  the  Em 
porium,  for  which  your  Mrs.  Gilder  here  did  time. 
You  know,  your  father  got  your  Mrs.  Gilder  sent  up 
for  three  years  for  that  same  job — which  she  didn't  do! 
That's  why  she  had  such  a  grudge  against  your  father, 
and  against  the  law,  too !" 


344  WITHIN  THE  LAW 

Burke  chuckled,  as  the  young  man  took  the  paper, 
wonderingly. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  blame  her  much  for  that  grudge, 
when  all's  said  and  done.  .  .  .  You  give  that  document 
to  your  father.  It  sets  her  right.  He's  a  just  man  ac 
cording  to  his  lights,  your  father.  He'll  do  all  he  can 
to  make  things  right  for  her,  now  he  knows." 

Once  again,  the  Inspector  paused  to  chuckle. 

"I  guess  she'll  keep  within  the  law  from  now  on,"  he 
continued,  contentedly,  "without  getting  a  lawyer  to  tell 
her  how.  .  .  .  Now,  you  two  listen.  I've  got  to  go  out 
a  minute.  When  I  get  back,  I  don't  want  to  find  any 
body  here — not  anybody!  Do  you  get  me?" 

He  strode  from  the  room,  fearful  lest  further  delay 
might  involve  him  in  sentimental  thangsgivings  from 
one  or  the  other,  or  both — and  Burke  hated  sentiment 

as  something  distinctly  unprofessional. 

***** 

When  the  official  was  gone,  the  two  stood  staring 
mutely  each  at  the  other  through  long  seconds.  What 
she  read  in  the  man's  eyes  set  the  woman's  heart  to  beat 
ing  with  a  new  delight.  A  bloom  of  exquisite  rose  grew 
in  the  pallor  of  her  cheeks.  The  misty  light  in  the  vio 
let  eyes  shone  more  radiant,  yet  more  softly.  The  crim 
son  lips  curved  to  strange  tenderness.  .  .  .  What  he 
read  in  her  eyes  set  the  husband's  pulses  to  bounding. 
He  opened  his  arms  in  an  appeal  that  was  a  command. 
Mary  went  forward  slowly,  without  hesitation,  in  a 
bliss  that  forgot  every  sorrow  for  that  blessed  moment, 
and  cast  herself  on  his  breast. 


TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

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May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Cresset  &  Dunlap's  Hst 

HIS  HOUR.    By  Elinor  Glyn.    Illustrated. 

A  beautiful  blonde  Englishwoman  visits  Russia,  f  ./id  is  vio 
lently  made  love  to  by  a  young  Russian  aristocrat  A  most  unique 
situation  complicates  the  romance. 

THE    GAMBLERS.      By  Charles  Klein  and  Arthur  Hornblow. 
Illustrated  by  C.  E.  Chambers. 

A  big,  vital  treatment  of  a  present  day  situation  wherein  men 
play  for  big  financial  stakes  and  women  flourish  on  the  profits — or 
repudiate  the  methods. 

CHEERFUL  AMERICANS.    By  Charles  Battell  Loomis.    Illus- 
trated  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn  and  others. 

A  good,  wholesome,  laughable  presentation  of  some  Americans 
at  home  and  abroad,  on  their  vacations,  and  during  their  hours  of 
relaxation. 

THE  WOMAN  OF  THE  WORLD.    By  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox. 

Clever,  original  presentations  of  present  day  social  problems 
and  the  best  solutions  of  them.  A  book  every  girl  and  woman 
should  possess. 

THE   LIGHT  THAT  LURES.    By  Percy  Brebner. 
Illustrated.     Handsomely  colored  wrapper. 

A  young  Southerner  who  loved  Lafayette,  goes  to  France  to 
aid  him  during  the  days  of  terror,  and  is  lured  in  a  certain  direction 
by  the  lovely  eyes  of  a  Frenchwoman. 

THE  RAMRODDERS.       By  Holman  Day.      Frontispiece  by 
Harold  Matthews  Brett. 

A  clever,  timely  story  that  will  make  politicians  think  -ind  will 
make  women  realize  the  part  that  politics  play — even  in  their 
romances. 

Ask  for  complete  free  list  of  G.  &  I).  Popular  Copyrighted,  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

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A   CERTAIN    RICH   MAN.    By  William  Allen  White. 

A  vivid,  startling  portrayal  of  one  man's  financial  greed,  its 
wide  spreading  power,  its  action  in  Wall  Street,  and  its  effect  on 
the  three  women  most  intimately  in  his  life.  A  splendid,  enter 
taining  American  novel. 

IN    OUR    TOWN.    By  William  Allen  White.    Illustrated  by  F. 
R.  Gruger  and  W.  Glackens. 

Made  up  of  the  observations  of  a  keen  newspaper  editor, 
involving  the  town  millionaire,  the  smart  set,  the  literary  set,  the 
bohemian  set.  and  many  others.  All  humorously  related  and  sura 
to  hold  the  attention. 

NATHAN  BURKE.    By  Mary  S.  Watts. 

The  siory  ot  an  ambitious,  backwoods  Ohio  boy  who  rose 
to  prominence.  Everyday  humor  of  American  rustic  life  per 
meates  the  book. 

THE  HIGH    HAND.    By  Jacques     utrelle.    Illustrated  by  Will 

Grere. 

A  splendid  story  of  the  political  game,  with  a  son  of  the 
soil  on  the  one  side,  and  a  "kid  glove"  politician  on  the  other. 
A  pretty  girl,  interested  in  both  men,  is  the  chief  figure. 

THE  8ACK\VOODSMEN.  By  Charles  G.  D.  Roberts.  Illustrated. 
Realistic  stories  of  men  and  women  living  midst  the  savage 
ieauty  of  the  wilderness.    Human  nature   at  its  best  and   worst 
£  well  protrayed. 

YELLOWSTONE  NIGHTS.    By  Herbert  Quick. 

A  jolly  company  of  six  artists,  writers  and  other  clever 
-*olks  take  a  trip  through  the  National  Park,  and  tell  stories  around 
camp  fire  at  night.  Brilliantly  clever  and  original. 

THE  PROFESSOR'S  MYSTERY.      By    Wells    Hastings   and 
Brian  Hooker.     Illustrated  by  Hanson  Booth. 

A  young  college  professor,  missing  his  steamer  for  Europe, 
has  a  romantic  meeting  with  a  pretty  girl,  escorts  her  home,  and 
is  enveloped  in  a  big  mystery. 

A.sk  for  compete  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

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TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

GRQSSET  8c  DUNLAFS  LIST 

May  be  had  whatever  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  &  Dunlap's  list 

THE  SILENT  CALL.    By    Edwin    Milton   Royle.     Illustrated 
with  scenes  from  the  play. 

The  hero  of  this  story  is  the  Squaw  Man's  son.  He  has 
been  taken  to  England,  but  spurns  conventional  life  for  the  sake 
of  the  untamed  West  and  a  girl's  pretty  face. 

JOHN  MARCH,    SOUTHERNER.    By  George  W.  Cable. 

A  story  of  the  pretty  women  and  spirited  men  of  the  South. 
As  fragrant  in  sentiment  as  a  sprig  of  magnolia,  and  as  full  of 
mystery  and  racial  troubles  as  any  romance  of  "after  the  war" 
days. 

MR.  JUSTICE  RAFFLES.    By  E.  W.  Hornung. 

This  engaging  rascal  is  found  helping  a  young  cricket  player 
out  of  the  toils  of  a  money  shark.  Novel  in  plot,  thrilling  and 
amusing. 

FORTY  MINUTES  LATE.  By  F.  Hopkinson  Smith.  Illustrated 
by  S.  M.  Chase. 

Delightfully  human  stories  of  every  day  happenings;  of  a 
lecturer's  laughable  experience  because  he's  late,  a  young  woman's 
excursion  into  the  stock  market,  etc. 

OLD  LADY  NUMBER  31.    By  Louise  Forsslund. 

A  heart-warming  story  ot  American  rural  life,  telling  of  the 
adventures  of  an  old  couple  in  an  old  folk's  home,  their  sunny, 
philosophical  acceptance  of  misfortune  and  ultimate  prosperity. 

THE  HUSBAND'S  STORY.    By  David  Graham  Phillips. 

A  story  that  has  given  all  Europe  ris  well  as  all  America  much 
food  for  thought.  A  young  couple  begin  life  in  humble  circum 
stances  and  rise  in  worldly  matters  until  the  husband  is  enormously 
rich— the  wife  in  the  most  aristocratic  European  society — but  at  the 
price  of  their  happiness. 

THE  TRAIL  OF  NINETY- EIGHT.      By  Robert  W.  Service. 
Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vagabondia"  ever  written,  and 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  picturesque  descriptions  of  the  stam 
pede  of  gold  seekers  to  the  Yukon.  The  love  story  embedded  in 
the  narrative  is  strikingly. original. 

Asle  for  complete  free  list  of  G,  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted.  Fiction 

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GROSSET  &    DUN  LAP'S 

DRAMATIZED  NOVELS 

Original,  sincere  and  courageous — often  amusing — the 
kind  that  are  making  theatrical  history. 

MADAME  X.     By  Alexandra  Bisson  and  J.  W.  McCon- 

aughy.      Illustrated    with    scenes    from    the    play. 
A  beautiful  Parisienne  became  an  outcast  because  her  hus 
band  would  not  forgive  an  error  of  her  youth.    Her  love  for 
her  son  is  the  great  final  influence  in  her  career.    A  tremen 
dous  dramatic  success. 

THE  GARDEN  OF  ALLAH.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

An  unconventional  English  woman  and  an  inscrutable 
stranger  meet  and  love  in  an  oasis  of  the  Sahara.  Staged 
this  season  with  magnificent  cast  and  gorgeous  properties. 

THE  PRINCE  OF  INDIA.    By  Lew.  Wallace. 

A  glowing  romance  of  the  Byzantine  Empire,  presenting 
with  extraordinary  power  the  siege  of  Constantinople,  and 
lighting  its  tragedy  with  the  warm  underglow  of  an  Oriental 
romance.  As  a  play  it  is  a  great  dramatic  spectacle. 

TESS   OF    THE    STORM    COUNTRY.      By  Grace 

Miller  White.     Illust.  by  Howard  Chandler  Christy. 
A  girl  from  the  dregs  of  society,  loves  a  young  Cornell  Uni 
versity  student,  and  it  works  startling  changes  in  her  life  and 
the  lives  of  those  about  her.    The  dramatic  version  is  one  of 
the  sensations  of  the  season. 

YOUNG    WALLINGFORD.      By  George    Fandoiph 

Chester.     Illust.  by  F.  R.  Gruger  and  Henry  Raleigh. 

A  series  of  clever  swindles  conducted  by  a  cheerful  young 

man,  each  of  which  is  just  on  the  safe  side  of  a  State's  prison 

offence.    As   "  Get-Rich-Quick  Wallingford,"  it  is  probably 

the  most  amusing  expose  of  money  manipulation  ever  seen 

<on  the  stage. 

THE   INTRUSION   OF  JIMMY.     By  P.  G.  Wode- 

house.     Illustrations  by  Will  Grefe. 
Social  and  cJub  life  in  London  and  New  York,  an  amateur 
burglary  adventure  and  a  iove  story.     Dramatized  under  the 
title   of  "A   Gentleman  of   Leisure,"  it  furnishes  hours  of 
laughter  to  the  play-goers. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


TITLES    SELECTED    FROM 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAPS  LIST 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.       Ask  for  Cresset  &  Dunlap's  list 

f  HE  SIEGE  OF  THE  SEVEN  SUITORS.    By  Meredith  Nich= 
olson.     illustrated  by  C.  Coles  Phillips  and  Reginald  Birch.  _ 

Seven  suitors  vie  with  each  other  for  the  love  of  a  beautiful 
^irl,  and  she  subjects  them  to  a  test  that  is  fnll  of  mystery,  magic' 
and  sheer  amusement. 

THE  MAGNET.    By  Henry  C.  Rowland.    Illustrated  by  Clarence 
F.  Underwood. 

The  story  of  a  remarkable  courtship  involving  three  pretty 
girls  on  a  yacht,  a  poet-lover  in  pursuit,  and  a  mix-up  in  the  names 
of  the  girls. 

THE  TURN  OF  THE  ROAD.  By  Eugenia  Brooks  Frothinghrm. 
A  beautiful  young  opera  singer  chooses  professional  success 
instead  of  love,  but  comes  to  a  place  in  life  where  the  call  of  the 
heart  is  stronger  than  worldly  success. 

SCOTTIE  AND  HIS  LADY.     By  Margaret  Morse.    Illustrated 
by  Harold  M.  Brett. 

A  young  girl  whose  affections  have  been  blighted  is  presented 
with  a  Scotch  Collie  to  divert  her  mind,  and  the  roving  adventures 
of  her  pet  lead  the  young  mistress  into  another  romance. 

SHEILA  VEDDER.    By  Amelia  E.  Ban.    Frontispiece  by  Harri 
son  Fisher. 

A  very  beautiful  romance  of  the  Shetland  Islands,  with  a 
handsome,  strong  willed  hero  and  a  lovely  girl  of  Gaelic  blocd  a3 
heroine.  A  sequel  to  "Jan  Vedder's  Wife." 

JOHN  WARD.  PREACHER.    By  Margaret  Deland, 

The  first  big  success  of  this  much  loved  American  novelist, 
It  is  a  powerful  portrayal  of  a  young  clergyman's  attempt  to  win  his 
beautiful  wife  to  his  own  narrow  creed. 

THE    TRAIL  OF    NINETY-EIGHT.    By  Robert  W.  Service. 

*        Illustrated  by  Maynard  Dixon. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  "Vagabondia  "  ever  written,  and 
one  of  the  most  accurate  and  picturesque  of  the  stampede  of  gold 
seekers  to  the  Yukon.  The  love  story  embedded  in  the  narrative 
is  strikingly  original, 

Ask  for  compete  free  list  of   G.  &  D.    Poplar-  Copyrighted  Fictio*. 

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THE  NOVELS  OF 

STEWART    EDWARD   WHITE 

THE  RULES  OF  THE  GAME.  Illustrated  by  Lajaren  A.  Killer 

The  romance  of  theson  of  "  The  Riverman."  The  young  college 
hero  goes,  into  the  lumber  camp,  is  antagonized  by  "graft"  and  comes 
into  the  romance  of  his  life. 
ARIZONA  NIGHTS,  lllus.  and  cover  inlay  by  N.  C.  Wyeth. 

A  series  of  spirited  tales  emphasizing  some  phases  of  the  lifa 
of  the  ranch,  plains  and  desert.    A  masterpiece. 
THE   BLAZED    TRAIL.  With  illustiations  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 

A  wholesome  story  with  gleams  of  humor,  telling  of  a  young 
man  who  blazed  his  way  to  fortune  through  the  heart  of  the  Mich 
igan  pines. 
THE  CLAIM  JUMPERS.    A  Romance. 

Tne  tenderfoot  ma  iager  of  a  mine  in  a  lonesome  gulch  of  the 
Black  Hills  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  but  "wins  out"  in  more  ways  than 
one. 
CONJUROR'S     HOUSE.    Illustrated  Theatrical  Edition. 

Dramatized  under   the     title    of  "The    Call  of    the    North." 

"Conjuror's  House  is  a  Hudson  Bay  trading  post  where  the 
head  factor  is  the  absolute  lord.    A  young  fellow  risked  his  life  and 
won  a  bride  on  this  forbidden  land. 
THE   MAGIC   FOREST.    A  Modern  Fairy  Tale.    Illustrated. 

The  sympathetic  way  in  which  the  children  of  the  wild  and 
their  life  is  treated  could  only  belong  to  one  who  is  in  love  with  the 
forest  and  open  air.    Based  on  fact. 
THE  RIVERMAN.    lllus.  by  N.  C.  Wyeth  and  C.  Underwood. 

Tne  story  of  a  man's  fight  against  a  river  and  of  a  struggle 
between  honesty  and  grit  on  the  one  side,  and  dishonesty  and 
shrewdness  on  the  other. 
THE   SILENT   PLACES.  Illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin. 

The  wonders  of  the  northern  forests,  the  heights  of  feminine 
devotion,  and   masculine  power,  the  intelligence  of  the   Caucasian 
and  the  instinct  of  the  Indian,  are  all  finely  drawn  in  this  story. 
THE  WESTERNERS. 

A  story  of  the  Black  Hills  that  is  justly  placed  among  the 
best  American  novels.  It  portrays  the  life  of  the  new  West  as  no 
other  book  has  done  in  recent  years. 

THE     MYSTERY.  In  collaboration  with  Samuel  Hopkins  Adams 
With  illustrations  by  Will  Crawford. 

The  disappearance  of  three  ^successive  crews  from  the  stout 
ship  "Laughing  Lass"  in  mid- Pacific,  is  a  mystery  weird  and  inscrut 
able.  In  the  solution,  there  is  a  story  of  the  most  exciting  voyag« 
that  man  ever  undertook. 

GROSSET  &   DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


THE  NOVELS   OF 

IRVING  BACHELLER 

Full  of  the  real  atmosphere  of  American  home  life. 

THE    HAND-MADE   GENTLEMAN.      With  a    double- 
page  frontispiece. 

The  son^  of  a  wash-woman  begins  re-making  himself 
socially  and  imparts  his  system  to  his  numerous  friends.  A 
story  of  rural  New  York  with  an  appreciation  of  American 
types  only  possible  from  the  pen  of  a  humor  loving  American. 

PARREL  OF    THE    BLESSED    ISLES.     With  illustra 
tions  by  Arthur  I.  Keller. 

A  tale  of  the  North  Country.  In  Darrel,  the  clock  tinker, 
wit,  philosopher  and  man  of  mystery,  is  portrayed  a  force  held 
in  fetters  and  covered  with  obscurity,  yet  strong  to  make  its 
way,  and  widely  felt. 

D'RI  AND  I;    A  Tale  of  Daring  Deeds  in  the  Second  War 

with  the  British.     Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 
«  D'ri "  was  a  mighty  hunter,  quaint,  rugged,  wise,  truth 
ful.     He  fights  magnificently  on  the  Lawrence,  and  is  a  strik 
ing  figure  in  this  enthusiastic  romance  of  early  America. 

EBEN  HOLDEN:     A  Tale  of  the  North  Country. 

A  story  of  the  hardy  wood-choppers  of  Vermont,  who 
founded  their  homes  in  the  Adirondack  wilderness.  "Eben," 
the  hero,  is  a  bachelor  with  an  imagination  that  is  a  very 
vilderness  of  oddities. 

SILAS  STRONG:   Emperor  of  the  Woods. 

A  simple  account  of  one  summer  life,  as  it  was  lived  in  a 
part  of  the  Adirondacks.  Silas  Strong  is  a  woodland  philos 
opher,  and  his  camp  is  the  scene  of  an  impressive  little  love 
fitory. 

VERGILIUSi    A  Tale  of  the  Coming  of  Christ. 

A  thrilling  and  beautiful  story  of  two  young  Roman 
Patricians  whose  great  and  perilous  love  in  the  reign  of 
Augustus  leads  them  through  the  momentous,  exciting  events 
that  marked  the  year  just  preceding  the  birth  of  Christ. 

GROSSET  £  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


B.  M.  Bower's  Novels 

Thrilling  Western  Romances 

Large  12  mos.  Handsomely  bound  in  cloth.      Illustrated 

CHIP,  OF  THE  FLYING  U 

A  bree/y  wholesome  tale,  wherein  the  love  affairs  of  Chip  and  > 
Delia    Whitman  are  charmingly  and     humorously    told.      Chip\  t 
jealousy  of   Dr.  Cecil  Grantham,  who  turns  out  to  be  a  big.  blue 
eyed  young  woman  is  very  amusing.    A  clever,  realistic  story  of 
the  American  Cow-puncher. 

THE  HAPPY  FAMILY 

A  lively  and  amusing  story,  dealing  with  the  adventures  of 
eighteen  jovial,  big  hearted  Montana  cowboys.  Foremost  amongst 
them,  we  find  Ananias  Green,  known  as  Andy,  whose  imaginative 
powers  cause  many  lively  and  exciting  adventures. 

HER   PRAIRIE  KNIGHT 

A  realistic  story  of  the  plains,  describing  a  gay  party  of  Eas 
terners  who  exchange  a  cottage  at  Newport  for  the  rough  homeli 
ness  of  a  Montana  ranch-house.  The  merry-hearted  cowboys,  the 
fascinating  Beatrice,  and  the  effusive  Sir  Redmond,  become  living, 
breathing  personalities. 
THE  RANGE  DWELLERS 

Here  are  everyday,  genuine  cowboys,  just  as  they  really  exist. 
Spirited  action,  a  range  feud  between  two  families,  and  a  Romeo 
and  Juliet  courtship  make  this  a  bright,  jolly,  entertaining  story, 
without  a  dull  page. 
THE    LURE  OF  DIM  TRAILS 

A  vivid  portrayal  of  the  experience  of  an  Eastern  author, 
among  the  cowboys  of  the  West,  in  search  of  "local  color"  for  a 
new  novel.  "Bud"  Thurston  learns  many  a  lesson  while  following 
"the  lure  of  the  dim  trails"  but  the  hardest,  and  probably  the  most 
welcome,  is  that  of  love. 
THE  LONESOME  TRAIL 

"Weary"  Davu  son  leaves  the  ranch  for  Portland,  where  con 
ventional  city  life  palls  on  him.  A  little  branch  of  sage  brush, 
pungent  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  prairie,  and  the  recollection  or 
a  pair  of  large  brown  eyes  soon  compel  his  return.  A  wholesome 
love  story, 

THE  LONG  SHADOW 

A  vigorous  Western  story,  sparkling  with"  the  free,  outdoor, 
life  of  a  mountain  ranch.  Its  scenes  shift  rapidly  and  its  actors  play 
the  paine  of  life  fearlessly  and  like  men.  It  is  a  fine  love  story  from 
start  to  finish. 

Ask  for  a  complete  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction. 

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